Welcome to the Jungle
by TheResurrectionist
Summary: Dean Winchester is the famous survivalist with a bad attitude. Sam Wesson is just a cameraman trying to make a living, trailing after a crazy ex-marine on the TV show "Man vs Wild". Things, obviously, go great. (Or, the one where Dean is Bear Grylls, and Sam's his cameraman) Wincest AU. Now: All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 1.5
1. Chapter 1

A/N Hey guys! A(nother) plot bunny twitched its nose at me, and I couldn't resist. Many thanks to my beta Angelicaldevil for the quick edit. I hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

**January, 1986. Colorado Mountains. **

_"I'm so cold, Dean."_

_The wind whistled against his face, clawing at numb skin._

_"I know, little brother. I know. We're almost there."_

_"No…N-no we're not. I can't see anything."_

_He was so cold. It was like hugging ice. Frosted eyelashes blinked open weakly, blue eyes catching his. He tightened his hold._

_"Hold on, Adam. C'mon, you gotta hold your arms tighter."_

_His brother made a pained noise._

_"I can't."_

_"Yes, you can. You can." He rubbed his hands down Adam's arms, pushing blood back into his brother's skin. Where was everyone? What was he supposed to do?_

_"It's so cold. H-how is it t-this cold out?" He needed to get Adam warmer. But how?_

_Lights shone ahead. He stumbled towards them, jarring the precious bundle in his arms with every step._

_"Adam, we're almost there," he breathed out ice, but the lights ahead warmed him. "Just hold on. Hold on, little brother. I—I have you-"_

_He stumbled and fell, sprawling them in front of the door. Adam was silent, tumbling from his arms like a dead weight into the snow._

_"Adam," he moaned weakly, trying to cradle his brother's head. The ice from the river shone glassy on his skin. "Adam, please."_

_He crawled towards the door, reaching up a shaking fist. One, two, three._

_"Somebody help me!" Knock. "Help!"_

_Nothing._

_"Adam?"_

_Help me. Help us._

_What do I—_

_"HELP!"_

_Adam, Adam—_

_"Adam?"_

_His brother's chest didn't rise. No breath escaped his lips._

_"No," He pushed forward on numb legs, crying out as the blood pumped through his veins. "No no no no no, please, I-"_

_Light flooded his senses. Strong arms brushed his hands away, pushing him backwards, away from Adam—_

_"NO!"_

_There was no strength left. He was cold—he was so very cold. He fought, clawed with icy hands, straining towards Adam._

_Darkness. A sense of failure. The absence of a heartbeat._

_He'd done this._

* * *

**November, 2014. LA. **

"You're kidding me."

Sam glared at the papers on the desk in front of him, moving his impressive stare upwards in disbelief. Gabriel, the terrible, conniving, horrible person that he was, at least had the decency to flinch.

"Look, six people quit in the last _month_!" the man defended. "Do you know how hard it is to film TV without a reliable cameraman?"

Sam smirked. "Probably pretty hard."

"It's fucking making my hair go grey," Gabriel brushed his head absently. "I've got Ellen Harvelle screaming in my ear every fifteen minutes about needing another cameraman. Everyone's been put through the wringer already."

"What, and I'm the only one not crazy enough to try it?"

The other man put his head into his hands, flinging himself down into a chair. "Fuck, kid, you're my only hope."

Sam sighed. "And you thought this was the right job for me…why, again?"

Gabriel's gaze sharpened as he looked up. "Don't play coy. You're athletic, and not afraid of the woods like some pansies. Plus, you're reliable. You're fucking perfect."

"Awww, you really think so?" Sam batted his eyelashes at the other man, leaning forwards. "No dice. Everyone I talked to said he's bad news."

It was true. Not that his business had much of a social circle, but they got to talking in between shoots—who had the best equipment, who had better insurance, who paid the best—or was a complete and utter douchebag to every cameraman ever set within three feet of them.

"Wesson, you're the best camera man I've got. I wouldn't bother you with this if you paid me to." Gabriel almost frantically picked up one of the cover letters, flipping it over and pushing it towards him. "See, look here. Good work ethic, doesn't smoke—"

Dean Winchester's face stared up at them, handsomely captured in what should've been a smile and was more of a…grimace. The man looked grumpy and evil, which was generally how the rumors went. No horns were visible right now, though.

"He hates people! How am I supposed to work with him?"

Gabriel waved his hands at him. "I don't know? Show him the puppy dog eyes?"

"Through the _camera_?"

A pause. "Oh, right."

"What if he decides he doesn't like me and pushes me off a cliff?"

Gabriel blanched. "You're good at climbing, right?"

Sam sighed in frustration, leaning his head back. Even if he took the offer, there was no job security. Man vs Wild was like a revolving door for staff, and hardcore as all get out. Most of the show was filmed one on one, with Winchester diving off cliffs and the camera straining after him through whatever hell he'd made them catapult into that week.

He'd seen the show once or twice, if only to gauge the difficulty of keeping up (he was proud of his fitness) but there were no safety ropes or staged situations. Everything was real, from the bears to the heights, and that made it…

Well. Just the tiniest bit scary.

Sam, on the other hand, had gotten three weeks off after shooting the finale of _Naked and Afraid _in the wilderness of Nevada, kicking his feet back up in LA. Gabriel's office was a nice change of scene, or, you know, one with clothing. And a turquoise ceiling.

"This isn't what I meant when I said 'less adventurous'," Sam said after a moment, leaning back down. "In fact, I don't even know how you got there. I'd rather film naked people for _weeks _than hang with this guy for an hour!"

"Jesus, what's with everyone?" Gabriel ran a hand through his thinning hair, throwing the bio back down to the coffee table. "'Winchester this, Winchester that'. This guy's hot shit. Anyone wanting their name out there needs him like air."

"Yeah, and then they run away as fast as they can," Sam said, remembering a friend's story. "I got a buddy who said he made him eat _shit_. Like, elephant poop. For water. What the hell?!"

"That's what they do on those fucking nature shows," the other man complained, halfway between pleading and annoyed. "Run around, growl some commentary and kill something. You've done it before. You'll fit in fine."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Not if he's half the douchebag everyone says he is. And I have to _live _with him!"

"Well, you're not exactly high-quality yourself, kid."

"_Hey!_"

"What?" At Sam's puppy-dog eyes, he relented. "Look. The network themselves called. Their last guy quit on set yesterday. They really need a replacement. I'm gonna write a number down on this napkin-"

"That's _really_ clichéd."

"—and then you're gonna make up your mind. Doesn't matter if you stay on any longer than they need you. It's part time. Deal?"

Sam snorted. "Deal. Whatever."

"Good." Gabriel scribbled furiously onto the shitty Starbucks napkin on his desk, flipping it over and sliding it towards Sam. "Trust me, kid-"

He flipped the napkin over and blinked. Then blinked again. He stared up at Gabriel.

"_Seriously_?" it came out like a whisper. Gabriel nodded, sage.

"That's just the first week."

Sam did some heavy breathing. "You're serious?"

"Deal?"

Sam breathed some more. Elephant shit, he told himself. Oh god.

"Deal."

* * *

**November, 2014. Auditions. **

"The goal here is not to die," Gabriel said as they pulled up to the gym's main building. "It's gonna be a lot of work, but if they like you, then you'll get the job no problem."

Sam squinted at the sign on the gym's door. It said: _Novak's Gym_

"I thought you said they were desperate?"

"Close to it," Gabriel sighed. "Look. They need you badly, but they gotta make sure you aren't gonna twist an ankle or something trekking after Winchester. You have to be just as fit as he is, if not better. How much does your camera weigh again?"

"A lot."

"Exactly."

He shrugged. The car was idling now, Gabriel either too busy talking to notice. "So it's just a few physical tests?"

"Think of it like a screen test, except you're not gonna be on the screen," the other man waved a hand in the gym's direction. "Just try not to break an ankle or something on the first day. Lord knows that's why the last guy quit."

Sam's interest peaked. "Yeah?"

"Mhmm. Tripped on a fern in some goddamned jungle and tore his Achilles tendon. Nasty."

"That's reassuring."

Gabriel frowned at his expression. "Look, kid, you're-"

"Capable, perfect, totally prepared?" Sam cut in. He looked at the gym's door one more time. "Guess we'll just have to find out."

"Good." Gabriel clapped him on the back, _hard_. "I left some forms on Cas's desk for you to fill out-"

"So I can't sue you."

"—and whatever Crowley says, don't buy health insurance from him. Bastard. Wait." The other man froze. "You have health insurance, right?"

"Jesus," Sam opened the door of the car, grabbing his duffel bag. "I'm out of here. I'll call you if I survive."

"And if you don't!" Gabriel said. "This whole goddamned thing is making me nervous. I'm usually a lot happier, you know."

"I know." Sam closed the door, giving his boss a cheerful wave. "Go eat some candy. You're not you when you're hungry."

"Fucker," Gabriel mumbled, tearing something silvery apart in his hands. "Good luck." He could just make out the Snickers logo before the car drove off.

Sam shrugged and knocked on the door. Here went nothing.

* * *

"Are you Sam?" A bubbly redhead wearing an earpiece opened the door, throwing him backwards a few steps. "You must be Sam! Come in!"

She grabbed his arm in a surprisingly tight grip, hauling him through the doorway. Sam gaped at the size of the place, eyes widening.

"I know. It's big, right?" The mysterious redhead was pulling him towards a door to the side, smirking. "People think a building like this is trash, but I dunno. These old warehouses have a certain, mhm, _je ne se quoi." _

The main gym stretched dozens of feet skyward, framed by climbing walls on all sides. It centered on a wide expanse of floor, with areas sectioned off for exercise machines, obstacle courses and rope exercises. People were bustling around them, working out or helping other people do the same.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry," the redhead stopped suddenly. "I'm an idiot. I forgot to introduce myself! Charlie, PA and slave of the benign dictator known as Castiel Novak."

"Sam Wesson," he said when he could tear his eyes away from the gym, shaking the proffered hand. "So...you work here."

Duh. "Yeah, since I got out of high school." Charlie started off in their original direction, a small office to the side. She pushed the door open and gestured him inside a small, messy office. "Here's where you're going to meet Cas and Dean."

_Dean_. Right.

"-you look healthy, so I think you'll do good." Charlie was still talking, waving her hands. "Don't smile too much, don't talk too much. You're, like, a robot, okay? Then you'll get hired."

"...Thanks?"

"Don't mention it!" Charlie's eyes widened, catching something over Sam's shoulder. "Okay. Here they come now. Good luck, Mr. Roboto." She smiled one last time and ducked out a side door, leaving him alone. Sam snuck a glance out the door. Two figures made their way across the gym floor, slowly coming into focus.

Sam locked eyes with Winchester, and everything came to a screeching halt.

* * *

A/N What do you guys think? Should I continue? Leave me a review and let me know what you thought!:)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N I know what you're thinking! 3k? How'd that happen. I don't know either. I really, however, hope you enjoy!

Super kudos to my beta for putting up with me. Next chapter should be the first survival episode, which I think will be Hawaii!

* * *

**November, 2014. Novak's Gym. Auditions. **

Sam barely had time to close his mouth before the office door opened and a dark-haired man led Winchester in.

Blue eyes caught his for a second before the other man broke into a polite smile. Sam could only stare as Dean Winchester's eyes fell on him, greener than he ever could've imagined. He was wearing a loose white t-shirt and sweatpants, looking somewhere between rumpled and predatory as he walked across the room, completely ignoring him.

"You must be Sam Wesson," the blue-eyed man extended a hand. He was dressed casually in a dark t-shirt and black jeans. Sam shook it numbly, trying not to stare at Winchester like he was the only person in the room. Amusement flashed across the dark-haired man's stoic features.

"My name is Castiel Novak." He said, shaking Sam's hand. Novak looked over his shoulder to where Winchester was slouched against a desk. "Dean, meet your new cameraman."

Winchester's expression didn't change, and he didn't offer Sam his hand. Instead, sharp eyes traveled up and down his body.

"How often do you work out?"

Sam startled at the sudden question. Apparently that was as far as pleasantries went. "Excuse me?"

"I said, how often do you work out? Do you run? Swim?"

"—All three." Sam remembered Charlie's earlier words. "When I'm not filming it's usually one a day."

Winchester leaned back on Novak's desk, not looking remotely appeased. "Cas?" he asked.

Novak sighed almost imperceptibly, a disappointed look on his face. He grabbed a sheet of paper off one of the desks and started reading.

"Sam Wesson, age 24. Prior experience, 6 years. Healthy, athletic. Good work history."

"Smoke?" he asked Sam, who shook his head.

"No."

Winchester snorted. "Good for you."

Castiel was peering over the top of Sam's bio, expression unreadable. "Well, if the preliminaries are settled…the track's open. ow about How about you start Sam on running, and I'll get the pool clear?"

Winchester gave him a short nod, effectively dismissing the other man. Sam startled as Winchester's face loomed in front of him. The man's eyes narrowed, irritation clear in the way his gaze slipped over Sam. He'd probably done this a million times already.

"Get your stuff and follow me."

Sam scrambled to his feet, surprised at the other man's speed. He was a few inches taller than the survivalist, but he had a sinking feeling that wouldn't help in chasing after him-if he even got the job.

* * *

Winchester led him to a small changing room, grunting _three minutes_ at him before stalking away, presumably to terrify kittens or something. Sam quickly changed into a pair of shorts and threw on a ratty t-shirt, praying that was remotely acceptable. He was out in two and a half minutes flat, brushing his bangs out of the way as he exited the changing room.

He jumped a second later as Winchester appeared right in front of him, eyes already picking apart his clothing. His eyes narrowed at Sam's hair, making him groan internally. He could hear the lecture coming from a mile away.

"That's going to get in your way." Winchester said, devoid of hardly any emotion. Sam shrugged.

"Doesn't bother me." He cracked his knuckles, looking around. People were exercising around them, oblivious to Winchester's douchebaggery. "Where do we start?"

"Follow me." Winchester spun on his heel (and who even _did_ that anymore?), walking towards the edge of the gym. Sam practically bounced after him, light and energized on his feet. He had this in the metaphorical bag.

Through yet _another _door, they entered into a huge, indoor track. Sam toed the material apprehensively, feeling a slight give under his feet. Hmmm.

"Run one mile at your top speed," Winchester instructed, gesturing at the track. "When you're done, do three miles at a steady pace. That's going to be about-"

"Four laps for the mile and twelve for the other three?" Sam mentally smacked himself as the words came out. "I mean, yeah?"

Winchester's nostrils flared once, enough to let Sam know he was in deep, deep shit. "Seems like you've got everything figured out; you can do five miles after instead of three." A wicked smirk curved his lips. "Wanna tell me how many laps that is?"

_Fuck you_. "No." Sam said.

"No, _sir_." Winchester stressed. Sam glared at the floor, muttering the word to Winchester's shoes. They were nice shoes.

"No, sir."

"Good." The other man clicked a button on his watch. His lips quirked once, irritatingly amused. "Go."

_Go?_

"Oh shit." Sam cursed again under his breath, leaping onto the track. His heart was already pounding, flooding his body with adrenaline. Or fear. Probably both. Winchester's stare burned holes into his back, so he picked up the pace.

He pounded through the first lap as fast as he could, feeling his strength flagging ever so slightly as he passed Winchester. The man had his arms crossed, observing him with a blank expression, glancing at his watch as Sam blew by.

At the end of the third lap he began to feel his strength flag, and he realized what Winchester was getting at. Making him run as fast as he could before launching into a 5-mile run…well, it wasn't going to be easy. He steeled himself, pushing more strength into his burning legs. He took the corner faster than he'd started, feeling more than hearing his footsteps echo in the huge chamber.

The fourth lap felt the longest, but every glance back at the survivalist pushed him forward. He wouldn't fail now. He wouldn't give in to the other man. Obviously this was some primal male instinct kicking in, but he needed to prove that he wasn't just some flake. That he could _do_ this.

Suddenly, it was done. He heard Winchester's watch beep once, and then everything fell silent. He put his hands over his head, breathing out hard. That had to be the fastest he'd ever run in his life (and he ran track in high school).

"What are you waiting for?" Winchester's growl broke through his victorious thoughts. "You've got five miles left!"

Panic flooded his body. Sam vaulted back into a run, calming himself a few dozen feet later. It wasn't a sprint now; all he had to do was survive. He pushed forward, feeling his legs wobble slightly. Was he really that out of shape?

An agonizing, unknown amount of minutes later, he came to a stop in front of Winchester for the second time that day. Sam brushed sweaty bangs out of his face, making his way over to a water fountain in the corner.

"No water," Winchester barked behind him. Sam groaned.

"Are you kidding me?" he protested. "I just ran six miles!"

The other man shrugged. "If you were in the wild, there wouldn't be a drinking fountain." With that, he stalked out of the room, presumably to their next task.

Sam cursed to himself again, grabbing his bag and following.

* * *

Castiel was waiting for them when they got to the pool, black hair ruffled like he'd run his hand through it a couple times. He looked anything but stressed, however, standing languidly by the edge of the huge, Olympic-sized swimming pool.

"If Dean didn't explain it to you already, his show involves a quantity of water shots and interactions," Novak said in strangely formal speech. "For you to be able to film those sequences, you need to be more than proficient in navigating all types of water. Your job requires you to carry a camera on your shoulder, so we've accounted for that through a large weight." He gestured towards a black box at his feet. Sam tried to gauge its weight from looks alone, chewing on his bottom lip.

"This test entails swimming, diving, moving through moving water, and safely avoiding rapids. You will carry the weight with you at all times on your shoulder as if it were a camera. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Sam said, pointedly emphasizing the second word. Novak nodded once, moving briskly to a side room.

"Dean, please begin."

Winchester sighed once, lips pursing. "Take off your shirt."

"I'd rather keep it on," Sam paled slightly, instead toeing off his shoes. He rubbed his hands together, praying he wouldn't push it. "Alright. What's first?"

The other man glanced once at his back, eyes shadowed. "Pick up the weight and jump into the shallow end. Wait for instructions."

Sam shrugged as Winchester walked a few feet back, grabbing the block and hefting it onto his shoulder. Huh. Just about the same weight as his camera.

_ Castiel must have asked Gabe about it._

He jumped into the shallow end without much show, holding the weight steady on his shoulder as his feet his the bottom. He kept his head up, watching Winchester for more instructions.

"Cas, you wanna start it up?" Winchester's voice rang out. It was strange how he kept using the nickname—maybe they were together? Novak didn't seem to object, though, so maybe they were just…friendly?

A second later, a large whirring sound filled the room, paired with a distinct rumbling under Sam's feet. He looked up just in time to see the waves across the pool start up, gaining height and momentum as they raced towards him.

"Cross the length of the shallow end," Winchester called out above him. "And don't drown, for christ's sake."

"That what happened to the last person?" Sam muttered to himself, hefting the 'camera' and plowing forward. The first wave was easy enough to dodge, but the second one caught him by surprise, slamming into his shoulder. He thought he heard Winchester snort behind him and resisted the urge to turn around and throw the weight at him. Asshole.

He ground his feet into the pool's bottom, watching the whitecaps of the waves as they approached. With slightly more ease, he weaved around the swells, rising when they peaked and crouching in the depths between them. Within a matter of seconds he was across, the weight on his shoulder barely noticeable. He heard Winchester shout at Novak before the waves finally shut off.

The survivalist looked grumpy even from across the pool, arms crossed again. Sam took a hazy moment to appreciate the man's biceps before he snapped back to focus, invigorated.

For the next half hour, Winchester had him diving and swimming in every form possible, testing his knowledge of formal strokes and diving ability. Holding his breath was probably the easiest part, but Sam knew he was pretty good at it. He surfaced after almost three minutes, and even Winchester had looked (ever so slightly) impressed. Swimming with the weight wasn't as easy, but he managed. Eventually, the survivalist called it quits, gesturing him over.

"Get dry and put new clothes on," the other man ordered as he swam to the other side (suspiciously easier without waves) and put the weight on the edge. "Cas'll take you to the next section. Be there in less than six minutes."

Sam bit off his cheeky retort, merely nodding an affirmation. He clambered out of the water, trying to find Novak. The blue-eyed man stepped out of an office to the side, presumably where the wave equipment was. He waved Sam over.

"There's a changing room around the corner. Put something loose on and head over to the main floor for the last part." Novak instructed, glancing across his sopping body. He almost looked amused.

"You could have taken your shirt off, you know. Then you wouldn't be dripping water all over my floors." Castiel said. Sam froze at the surprisingly chiding tone.

"Little late, huh?" He said weakly, shrugging. "What's up with everyone wanting my shirt off?" It wasn't _that_ kind of business, after all.

(He hoped not)

Castiel just gave him a knowing look, eyes raking across his back. From this angle, he bet the raised scar was just visible. He slouched, praying the other man wouldn't see it.

They walked together towards the changing room, Sam grabbing his duffel bag on the way, struggling to walk at Castiel's pace without slipping on the wet tile.

"You did well."

"Thanks." Sam said. Best praise he'd gotten all day, considering. "Uh—is he, ah-"

"Always like that?" Novak quirked an eyebrow, lips curving into a bittersweet smile. "No. No, I don't think so."

That was reassuring. "Um. Thank you. I'm gonna go-" he gestured at the changing room. Castiel nodded once, almost serene.

"Good luck, Sam Wesson."

"Thank you." Sam shook his head at his formal tone, shrugging out of his t-shirt and shorts and sliding a pair of sweatpants on. He avoided looking in the mirror as he threw a shirt on, grateful when cotton flowed across his skin.

* * *

Sam found Winchester at the edge of one of the open spaces of gym floor, stretching. Without a word he sat down next to him, moving to stretch his hamstrings. Winchester muttered something, turning to stretch his quads.

"So what's next?"

Winchester ignored him, a look of concentration on his face as he dropped down into an impressive calf stretch, legs caught impossibly beneath him. Sam shrugged and attempted the same position, falling into it after a second of effort.

Shit, did it hurt. Winchester made it look easy.

"You ever had formal training in hand to hand?" The other man asked after a few more stretches. Sam was in the middle of replicating a complicated arm stretch, trying not to stare at Winchester's hands.

"You mean sparring?" Sam thought about it. "I took a defense class a few years back, and I guess I used to wrestle with my cousins. Does that count?"

The "defense class" he'd mentioned was a little off. He had a black belt, but he wanted to see where this put him next to Winchester. Playing coy was obviously a _great_ way to start. If the other man had cared to glance at his bio, he'd see it on the front page. But he hated his guts, so…

Winchester looked less than pleased, but Sam suspected that was his default expression. "So no, then."

"Why do I need hand to hand if I'm filming?"

The other man ignored the question, climbing to his feet. Dawning comprehension filled Sam, and he quickly followed.

"Get your hands up," Winchester was still barefoot, looking dangerous even in sweatpants. "Don't take your eyes off me. Distractions are your enemy here."

Sam swallowed, bringing his hands up. He moved his feet into a fighting position, watching Winchester's every move. They circled each other, tension suddenly brewing in the space between them.

Winchester vaulted forward in a startling jab, blocked as Sam swung his arm up. Sam rolled, sweeping Winchester's legs out from under him. The other man snapped up instantly, just in time to grab Sam's arm and twist it savagely.

Instead of crying out, he jabbed at Winchester's shoulder and spun to the right, whipping an arm across the other man's neck and drawing him into a chokehold. Winchester broke free from the hold a second later, an enraged expression on his face. They eyed each other, Winchester's face a mask of surprise and fury.

Seconds later, Sam was dodging a flurry of punches, parrying with a few of his own as Winchester pressed against him again and again, struggling with each other. He had to admit that Winchester was obviously the better fighter—Sam was uncoordinated at some points, and not as well seasoned—but they were a good match. He dodged another swing towards his head, pretty sure it would've broken his nose.

He could hear people gathering around them as they fought. A crowd seemed to be forming as time went on. Sam saw Winchester's lips curl into a snarl after he dodged a particularly tricky set of blows, feeling the mounting emotion between them. He couldn't lose—but Winchester wouldn't.

Finally, it all seemed to come to a head as Sam threw out a sloppy punch, getting yanked into a shoulder hold by Winchester. He struggled, kicking out until his foot connected with Winchester's shin. Instead of dropping to the floor, the other man threw an arm across Sam's throat, dragging him down with him.

Sam felt his back slam against the floor a second before Winchester fell on top of him, digging his forearm into his neck and keeping him pinned. Sam fought then slumped in submission, feeling the press of Winchester's entire body against his like a live wire.

Winchester ignored the hoots of the crowd and stared down at Sam. Both of them were breathing heavily, unable to break the moment, caught chest-to-chest, Sam's face inches from the survivalist's. His eyes were green, set off by the freckles he could see scattered across Winchester's nose.

Sam was about to say something when the other man jumped up gracefully, tearing his gaze away from Sam's. He stalked past the crowd, nodding once to Castiel, whose eyes widened briefly.

"Ow," Sam pulled himself to his feet, poking at his neck. A large bruise was already forming. Novak walked over to him quickly, dismissing the crowd with a well-directed glare. Sam froze as the man stopped in front of him, praying he wasn't about to get arrested for assault. "S-sir."

"Wesson," A smile played at the corners of Novak's mouth.

"Sir?"

"You're hired."

* * *

A/N I hope to post a new chapter soon! Leave me a review and tell me what you thought!:)


	3. Hawaii: Part One

A/N Here's the first part of the Hawaii episode! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Archipelago off the coast of Hawaii. November, 2014. **

Hawaii (Part One)

Sam Wesson was having an interesting day. And if interesting meant terrifying, then that was also accurate.

Currently, he was clinging for dear life to his chair as the Man vs Wild plane sped through the air, knuckles white as he squeezed the armrest. He'd caught one glimpse of the water below them through the window and hadn't moved since. Winchester kept glancing at him from his position on the floor, amusement quirking his lips as he spotted Sam's death grip. Asshole.

It was strange to think that it was only two days ago when all of this started. Sure, he knew that the show traveled everywhere—but part of him hadn't comprehended this until they were thirty thousand feet above Hawaii and someone shoved a parachute into his hands.

Sam was pretty sure someone was supposed to teach him, maybe give a little demonstration, but the co-pilot (Gordon? Gordy? Something like that) only grunted a few basic instructions at him, plopped the parachute in his arms, and patted him on the back sympathetically. Winchester, the magnanimous person he was, didn't offer any tips either. He was silent for the entire plane ride, gazing out of the window when he wasn't glaring at Sam.

After the eventful spar with Winchester and getting hired, Castiel Novak had pulled him into his office and gave him the lowdown.

_Whatever he does, you do. Whatever he eats, jumps through, you do the same._ The man had said._ You follow him everywhere, even if you don't think you can. If you show him that respect, he'll give you the same. _

Sam had nodded along with the other man's bullshit and calmly signed his name on the insurance paperwork Gabe had left. Now he wished he hadn't. Jumping out of a plane? Well, he'd never done that before. Did insurance even cover skydiving injuries?

And why did Winchester hire him in the first place?

The devil himself was perched just on the edge of the plane, right next to the door. With his parachute already in place, he looked like the epitome of calm and collected. Sam adjusted his camera, focusing in on Winchester's face so he could get the angle right. Afternoon sun was a bitch sometimes.

The plan was for the other man to jump first, with Sam covering him from above and jumping a few seconds later. Below them, an abandoned archipelago awaited, covered in trees and not a lot else. According to the survivalist, the best way in was to parachute into the ocean, which was _totally_ Sam's first thought as well. Not.

A few minutes later the co-pilot came into the cabin and opened the side door, revealing the ocean far, far below them. Sam gave Winchester the signal that he was filming, and the other man's voice soon rose above the noise of the turbines.

"We're currently above a deserted island miles off the coast of Hawaii!" Sam moved in closer to catch the shouted words. Winchester's authority was unmistakable as he pointed down at the water. "Being castaway is one of people's worst fears—but I'm going to show you how to survive until you can get rescued."

At a nod from Winchester, Gordon (Gordy?) signaled the pilot, letting him know they were jumping. Sam kept the camera on Winchester as the man clambered out onto the platform just outside the plane, turning around so the viewers could see his face.

"My crew and I will be jumping into the ocean almost 20,000 feet below us," Winchester studiously avoided looking straight at Sam, which made him smirk a little behind the camera. _Ha. His crew_. "In order to do this safely, you have to remove your parachute a few feet before you hit the water. Otherwise, you run the risk of tangling yourself and drowning."

With that he perched on the edge of one bar, then jumped backwards, falling head over heels away from the plane. He sent the camera a devilish smile, teeth flashing in the afternoon sun as he fell.

Sam crossed himself mentally and pushed off after him, feeling the wind whip him away from the plane and trying for the sake of decent television not to scream.

* * *

Winchester had a small, mobile camera with him to catch the freefall, but Sam's priority was to get some footage of the fall from above.

He tumbled head over heels, panic overtaking him as the world sped by faster and faster. He tried to flatten himself out like he'd seen Winchester do in the past, slowing his descent as his limbs spread outwards.

The other man was freefalling below him, arms outstretched as he hurtled down towards the turquoise mass that was the ocean. A second later his parachute deployed, reminding Sam that, hey, might be a good idea.

When he was at about the same height as Winchester he pulled his own chute open, grimacing as the sudden jolt tore at his shoulders. Color exploded above him. He tried to guide his parachute one handed, harder said than done. Was this really how every episode started? Couldn't they have just taken a boat?

Winchester was only a few feet from the water when he pulled another ripcord, detaching the parachute and dropping him into the water. Sam eyed the solid-looking mass of water and pulled his a few seconds later, sending him hurtling into the ocean only a few feet away from the other man, camera aimed perfectly the whole time.

Well, he was a pro. Sometimes.

The water rushed across the lens, a startling shade of blue overtaking all of his senses. He caught a great shot of Winchester's legs kicking out above him, surfacing after a long, drawn-out moment.

The archipelago they'd aimed for was a few hundred feet away, covered in trees and vegetation. Sam blinked at the sudden change of scenery. The freefall had taken under a minute, but it felt like eternity to him.

_It's going to be you and him for a long period of time,_ Novak's words came back to him for some reason. _There's a safety crew a few islands away, because we have to follow regulations, but they can't get there that quickly. There might be times when you'll have to rely on him, and that will be hard. _

_I can handle it, _He'd told the blue-eyed man. Getting hurt or injured was the last item on his agenda. Winchester would probably leave him behind if he broke his leg, for all he would care. Sam would hobble off the island before the other man could notice, anyway.

"While the archipelago looks close, gauging distances at sea can be hard."

Winchester swam closer to the camera so Sam could catch a shot of the island with him in it. Their parachutes were already sinking below the waves, drifting eerily in the currents.

"Swimming that far can be exhausting, even if it looks short. Keep calm, swim slow, and don't be afraid to float if you get low on energy."

Sam backed up a little as Winchester demonstrated a few floating positions to use, treading water calmly. Eventually the other man pointed them towards the island, beginning a medium-paced swim towards the shore. Sam followed, keeping the camera upright while doing a modified sidestroke with his left hand and legs. Was this how they filmed _Jaws_?

_Sharks. Don't think about sharks. _

The beach was something out of a movie; soft, white sand and palm trees surrounded the island. It looked like the set for a Corona commercial. Sam stared in awe at their surroundings, instinctively letting the camera take in the panorama of color and noise.

Even though the survivalist had mentioned swimming dangers, they'd made it to the island fairly quickly. Winchester was already waiting for him on the beach, clothes skin-tight where the water had pulled them against his body. He handed Sam the smaller camera without a word, keeping his hand out of the frame, their fingers brushing.

"The first thing you need to think about it your basic necessities," Winchester said as they moved up the beach a little, pushing some seaweed off his arm. Sam felt his breath catch as their eyes connected through the camera. God, was he photogenic.

Winchester held up three fingers, waving him back to reality.

"Water, shelter, and a way to signal for help. These are what you need to survive."

Sam trailed after Winchester as the other man climbed a sand dune, headed towards the forest above them. He was still dripping wet, blonde hair spiky where he'd ran his hand through it.

"Now, if we look at these rocks over here, we can-"

Sam could see why so many people watched the show. Winchester looked completely calm and in control, walking over to a wall of stone and discussing its properties and pointing out the water leaking from between some cracks. He didn't look like the dick he was—he looked like someone whose hands you'd put your life in.

He followed the survivalist as the other man loped down the beach, finding a washed-up water bottle and cutting the top off with the knife from his belt. Winchester explained to the camera about rainfall and not wasting an opportunity for fresh water, placing the bottle against the cracks and tying it securely with a few vines.

"Water is your number one priority. In an island like this, water can only appear during rainy seasons—especially if there's not a spring hiding here somewhere." He pointed out towards another island a couple hundred feet away. "You can always search for more water on other islands, however."

Sam glanced at the other island out of the corner of his eye and sighed. That meant more swimming.

"But first, we'll check out the center of the island," Winchester was already heading into the jungle above them, knife out. Sam stared at the foliage through the viewfinder and steeled himself.

* * *

Half an hour was spent following a dead end spring. They'd stumbled on a pond of sorts, but a quick test from the other man proved it was brackish and totally undrinkable. Sam nearly broke out laughing at the disturbed expression on Winchester's face as the survivalist spit the water out. Ah, karma.

They were walking back up the island's center, a huge collection of cliffs and caves, making their way back to the beach they'd landed on. Winchester was describing the forest in a low voice, pointing out various options for water and food as they passed. Sam moved to capture a closer shot of him with a strange looking flower, inches from the edge of the cliff they were standing on.

Stupidly, he hadn't checked where he was stepping beyond a cursory glance. His foot his a patch of slick stone and slipped out from beneath him. It sent him tipping forward, camera slamming against his head as he fell—

"Wesson!"

A strong hand latched onto his forearm, dragging him backwards and into a solid chest. Sam breathed out in a huge gust, heart pounding in his chest as the chasm disappeared. He looked backwards to see Dean Winchester's face inches from him, eyes wide.

Sam sat there for a second, dumbly staring at the chasm feet from them. It was a miracle his camera was still in his lap, but that was the last thing on his mind right now. Winchester's chest was a hard line against his back, warm and strangely reassuring.

"I—uh-" He said lamely, moving to disengage himself from Winchester's arms. After a second of struggling the other man let him go, face returning to its usual grumpy, stern expression.

"Cliffs are dangerous," the survivalist said after a long, heated moment, standing up and brushing himself off. Sam felt his cheeks flush, hefting the camera and shoving his face towards the viewfinder so he didn't have to look up. "Pay closer attention, Wesson."

If Sam had to think about the imprint of Winchester's arms around his shoulders for a few minutes in order to calm down, that was nobody's business but his.

* * *

The sun was fading as they got back to the original beach, a beautiful sunset lighting up the sky to the west. Sam gaped at the beauty of it, barely listening to Winchester's instructions as he tried to get a quick shot of it. An irritated huff from the other man drew his attention back to the survivalist.

"The best way to attract fish at night is to build a fire," The other man walked over to a pile of driftwood, grabbing a few of the taller pieces and hefting them onto his shoulders. "Since we're fishing on water, making a tripod with a small fire will draw them in once they see the light. Build a fire on top of a layer of sand and it won't burn through your structure."

Sam filmed for the mere few minutes it took the man to construct a simple tripod and set it in the water a few feet off shore. He dug the legs into the sand and checked the small platform of sand in the middle before laying a few palm fronds across the top. A few moments later, a couple sparks from Winchester, and a large fire was roaring. It kept the growing darkness at bay, strangely primal.

Winchester returned to the beach and grabbed a piece of what looked like bamboo, using his knife to make a quick series of slices into one end. He tied vines into the indentations to keep them separate, spreading the wood like a handful of claws. Sam watched in awe as a makeshift spear formed, light but sturdy-looking. The survivalist sharpened the ends of the spear points with his knife, producing a wicked looking weapon.

"This part is tricky," Winchester pulled off his shirt and rolled up his pants legs, grabbing the spear and wading back into the water. "Stay quiet, and hold your weapon just above the water."

Sam was mesmerized by the play of firelight across Winchester's pale back, not noticing the water around his knees as he kept the camera steady. He barely breathed as the survivalist held the spear aloft, eyes glued to the water as he scanned for fish.

A flurry of motion exploded, water splashing everywhere as Winchester brought the spear down with a powerful thrust. Sam nearly tipped over as the thing thrashed, speared on one side of its slimy body. The other man let out a victorious shout, holding the weapon aloft as the fish squirmed on its prongs.

"Back to the shore," he ordered, expression manic in the light of the makeshift bonfire. Sam carefully maneuvered the camera backwards, heading back to the small fire Winchester had lit before they'd left.

"Just throw it on the fire and let it cook," the survivalist instructed, leaning down to inspect the fish. "Ah. That'll cook nice. Seafood for dinner."

Sam raised an eyebrow at the terrible line, but kept the camera focused on the burning, increasingly crisper fish. After a few minutes Winchester pulled it off the fire, breaking it apart and putting a piece in his mouth.

The smell was actually a little inviting. Sam's stomach growled once, hopefully not enough to get picked up on the camera. Winchester's head shot up at the noise, eyes flashing.

"You can stop filming."

Sam moved his head away from the viewfinder. "What?"

"I said, that's enough for today." Winchester pointed at the camera. Sam nodded, pulling it off his shoulder and powering it down. He rubbed absently at his collarbone and the bruise undoubtedly forming on his head before finally relaxing back into the sand. God, he was exhausted. He'd just close his eyes…and…

He woke to the sensation of something nudging against his hand, startling awake. The fire was roaring in front of him, Winchester's face outlined just a few inches from him. Sam gasped, looking down to see part of the fish lying in his palm.

"Dinner," the man grunted at him before leaning back to his earlier position, eyes catlike as they reflected the fire. "Eat up."

Sam struggled upwards, frowning as he saw that almost all of the fish rested in his hands. He glanced up in confusion.

"Don't you want some?"

Winchester shrugged, leaning back on a piece of driftwood. "Nah. Don't really like seafood." His eyes flicked to Sam's stomach, expression unreadable. "Looked like you needed it more than me, anyway."

Sam felt his cheeks redden but bit into the fish anyway, making a happy noise as the flavor exploded in his mouth. He quickly demolished the fish. He didn't miss the way the other man's eyes flashed to his head, exactly where his bruise was forming.

"Thanks." He said after a minute.

Winchester shrugged. "Don't mention it." From him, it almost sounded like an order.

"So, do you, uh-" Sam began. "I wanted to say-"

"No," Winchester leant back until he was in a sleeping position, facing the stars. He pulled his t-shirt across his face, effectively blocking Sam out. "Whatever it is, no."

Shame flooded him, making his face flush even more. "Sorry."

"Go to sleep."

Sam turned over on the sand, stung. He looked up at the stars and tried to pick out some constellations, falling into a fitful sleep before he could make out a single one.

* * *

A/N Let me know what you thought!:) I hope to have the next half up soon!


	4. Hawaii: Part Two

A/N Hey guys! Another Hawaii part. The next one should be up by Wednesday, barring a zombie apocalypse. Thanks for being awesome.

* * *

**November, 2014. Hawaiian Archipelago.**

Sam woke to sunshine beating down on his face, moaning to himself as he covered his eyes. The rhythmic push and pull of the waves nearly sent him back to sleep-until a pair of boots planted themselves in front of his face.

"Wakey wakey," Winchester's voice said sarcastically, boot nudging his ribs. Sam rolled over, groaning.

The whole night before seemed thousands of miles away, but he still felt the sting of the other man's words. Fine. If Winchester didn't want to be friendly, then he wouldn't either.

"Wake _up_, Wesson."

"Hnng?" he managed. A muted growl from the survivalist had him rolling over in a hurry.

"Grab your camera," the other man instructed, smirking evilly as his eyes roved over Sam's mussed clothes. "There's something you need to see."

Sam frowned and brushed a clump of sand off his face, making Winchester's smile grow wider.

"Where?" he asked.

The other man pointed across the beach to a large rock nestled right against the shore. Sam squinted at it, then nodded.

"Thanks." No help from the other man as he pushed himself off the sand, groaning as his spine cracked. He could still feel Winchester's presence behind him, watching him as he stood up.

"There's still sand on your face."

Sam ignored him, stumbling over to where he'd stowed the camera for the night. The second he was out of the other man's sight he scrubbed furiously at the remaining sand on his face, cheeks flaming. He hauled the camera onto his shoulder and checked the viewfinder, walking back to Winchester. Nodding once, he indicated that the camera was on.

"Over here."

Behind the big rock Winchester had pointed to earlier was a small hole, but what was sticking out of it made Sam pause. A quick movement caught his eye, flashing across the viewfinder. He took his face away from the camera, awed.

"Holy shit, is that a _turtle_?" he blurted out, forgetting that they were filming. He gaped after a second, caught between shame and awe. "Fuck. I'm sorry."

The turtle—the mother, he guessed—was halfway into the hole, covering a small group of eggs nestled into the wet sand. Sam blinked in amazement as the momma turtle eyed him calmly, flippers waving. He fought the urge to wave back like a three year old. She had to be at least thirty pounds!

"This is a green sea turtle, commonly found during hatching season on Hawaiian islands," Winchester continued, ignoring his outburst completely. "Females tend to have anywhere from two to three hatchling groups within one season. They make the swim onto shore during the night to avoid predators, and bury their eggs in the sand until they hatch."

Sam zoomed in on the eggs, carefully avoiding the momma turtle's flippers as he moved a little closer. The little eggs looked so fragile, white and translucent in the dark sand.

"The best thing to do when confronted with a nesting turtle is to leave it be," Winchester's voice said behind him. Sam moved fluidly to the right, positioning himself so the other man was in front of the eggs. Morning sun highlighted the gold in his hair.

"That, until I get desperate for food, is what I'm going to do as well."

Sam gagged at the idea of eating turtle eggs, following Winchester as the other man started walking away. He looked back at the momma sea turtle and waved, breaking into a secret grin as she waved her flippers back.

* * *

Winchester apparently wanted to check up on their water supply, so they made their way over towards the rocky cliffs they'd found yesterday. The bottle the survivalist had butchered was halfway full with murky water that had trickled down overnight.

The other man wasted no time opening it up and trying it. Since there was no spitting this time, Sam assumed it was potable. Winchester remarked a few more times on the importance of keeping water available before they made their way back onto the beach.

It was getting extremely humid, making the hot sun hazy above them. Sam pulled at his sweaty t-shirt, filming one-handed. Winchester paused and glared at him, anger manifesting only briefly in his expression.

"We had no luck finding a spring here yesterday, and our only water supply so far is rain." Winchester gestured towards the island a few hundred feet from them. Sam groaned internally. More swimming.

"In order to find food, you need water. Where there are animals, there is a steady supply of water. We'll have to use the resources we have on this island to travel to the other one."

Sam followed the other man back into the forest, wondering what that exactly meant. The other man took his knife out and struck down pieces of dead wood, leaves and vines. Winchester talked constantly about what he was doing, what woods were better and what type of vine to use. He dragged what had to be twenty pieces of wood out onto the beach in less than half an hour, face gleaming with sweat.

"It's a longer distance to the other island, from what I can judge," The other man wiped a hand across his brow, peering at the mass of land. "The best thing you can do in this situation is build some sort of flotation device. I've gathered enough wood and other materials in order to do that."

Sam settled down on the sand, propping the camera up to capture Winchester's whole frame. The other man took his shirt off, throwing it to the side as he got down to work. The survivalist gathered together about a dozen pieces of wood, lining them up together. Sam watched in awe as the man wove vines between them, forming a sturdy raft.

He talked intermittently about what he was doing, but Sam almost wished the other man didn't talk at all. There was a silent grace to what he was doing. Sam got the impression he was only talking for the benefit of the camera.

After a couple finishing touches with the vines, Winchester put the raft in the water and climbed on. The wood held under his weight, dipping and rising in the island's tides. Sam waded into the water, motivating himself for another round of swimming.

"You're good," Winchester hopped off the raft, waving at Sam to get back on the beach. "I'll make you one and then we can swim across."

_Oh thank Jesus_ Sam thought as he trudged backwards out of the water. He set the camera down in the sand. "Do you need, ah, help?"

"Grab the pieces over there and start throwing them together. I'll grab the vines."

Sam did as he asked, watching as Winchester's agile hands wove the raft together faster than the first one. He presented Sam with a raft a few minutes later, green eyes meeting his briefly before hopping on his own contraption.

Sam hurried to grab the camera, turning it on and laying down across the wood. He focused on Winchester's face, grabbing a long shot of the man as he started paddling.

"Onward."

* * *

**November, 2014. Hawaiian Archipelago: Island 2. **

Dark clouds were gathering in the east, slowly but surely blocking out the sun as they explored the island. Dean sent a questioning glance towards Wesson, only to be ignored as the other man stared resolutely into the viewfinder.

The wind was slowly picking up as well, sending humid air whirling between the tree leaves. The drop in barometric pressure was obvious in the way the birds and animals around them were acting. A storm was coming, and most likely a big one.

Wesson looked like he was feeling the humidity, at the very least. Three shirt buttons were open, revealing a flushed, tanned neck. Sweat ran down his temples, brushed away as the man ran a hand through his hair.

He kept talking, keeping them "on the trail" of a wild pig he'd spotted earlier, which was undoubtedly hiding somewhere to wait out the storm. The question wasn't if the storm would hit, but _when._

Dean waited until the first strike of lightning caught his eye, calmly finishing his sentence about rock formation before signaling Wesson. The cameraman frowned, aiming the camera towards Dean's hand.

"No. Put it down."

"Sir?" Wesson looked absolutely confused. Dean pointed at the ocean peeking out from the forest. The cameraman eyed the choppy surf, slowly lowering the camera.

"Did you want to, um, head back?"

_Was this kid fucking insane?_ "No."

"Oh thank Jesus." Wesson breathed out, obviously relieved. His cheeks reddened slightly. "Storm's coming."

Dean nodded. The kid wasn't as dumb as he'd thought. "Looks like it's gonna hit in about a half hour, maybe less."

"Alright." Wesson lifted the camera again, face pressed to the lens. He signaled that they were recording, brow furrowed in concentration. "Ready."

"Wesson."

"Mhm?"

"Put the damn camera down."

The cameraman did as he asked. "Sir?"

Dean checked the sky again, heart speeding up as he saw the wind picking up. The beach was already wrecked, palms bending in the gusts. "Wesson, this storm's gonna be bad. I need your help building a shelter and it's gotta be quick. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Start gathering long pieces of wood and bring them back here. There's a hole in the rock big enough for both of us."

Wesson nodded. "Okay. Anything else?"

Dean bit his lip, pondering. He wanted to make sure they weren't in danger, but alarming Wesson would get him nowhere.

"You still got that radio in the camera bag?"

* * *

Sam gathered as much wood as possible (and a few palm fronds to boot), stacking them next to the small cave Winchester had pointed out. It took him just over ten minutes, hauling the lengths from as far back as the beach.

There was barely enough space for two people to fit in the hole, but it would have to do. Sam placed his camera towards the back, settling it inside the bag. Winchester still had his emergency radio, currently standing on the beach speaking into it. He'd passed the other man once on his forage for wood, and the worried glance the other man sent out towards the east chilled him to the bone.

He propped the wood up against the stone, layering it three pieces deep and weaving vines through it like Winchester had shown him earlier. After a few minutes a solid covering formed, just wide enough to be considered a door. He knocked his hand against it, proud when it held firm.

They'd started the hunt for food almost three hours ago, and while Winchester collected more than enough bugs and questionable berries for the both of them, it wasn't enough for more than one meal. The rocky cavern at the bottom of the hill was probably the best shelter they'd stumbled upon all day—almost like Winchester had led them there on purpose.

"You about done?"

Sam jumped, spotting Winchester standing right behind him. The other man's expression was pinched.

"Yeah, I think so."

The survivalist walked past him and tested his work, nodding once. "Alright. I called in to HQ."

Sam's stomach dropped. "And?"

"It's too dangerous to come and get us. The winds alone grounded all flight for miles around." Winchester shrugged. "Looks like the beginnings of a tropical storm, but they didn't exactly use those words."

Tropical storm. "Tropical storm like the thing that comes before a _hurricane_?"

Winchester shook his head. "It's not a hurricane…not yet."

"How in the hell did they let us _film_ here if there was a tropical storm on the way?!"

"I wasn't informed of the weather situation." The other man said bluntly, obviously just as angry as Sam was. "Look. It's too weak. My guess is that it'll pass over before it can cause any damage."

"But you're still worried."

"I'm always worried." Winchester admitted. Thunder cracked above them, making Sam jump again. They both flinched as the first drops of rain slammed down, standing in the torrent for a few moments.

"Well, your water bottle's gonna be full tomorrow." Sam joked weakly. The survivalist sighed, gesturing at the shelter.

"Time to head in."

Sam refused to smile as Winchester held the "door" open for him, ducking into the small hole and thanking his lucky stars he wasn't claustrophobic. He didn't miss the fact that he was first towards the back of the cave, a much safer spot, though there was barely a foot of space between their faces.

Winchester sat down at the mouth of the small hole, leaning against the stone. He pulled the wood barrier Sam had made closed, tightening it and putting a few rocks against it so it wouldn't move.

"It's getting bad out there," Sam said. It wasn't really a question. Winchester grunted an affirmative, digging in his pocket for something. He produced a waterproof bag a second later, opening it and handing it to Sam.

"Cliff bar?"

Sam raised his eyebrows at the offer, taking one of the energy bars. The chocolate ones were his favorite. He watched as Winchester grabbed the bag back and took out an apple pie bar, a barely-restrained look of glee on his face.

"Hmmm."

Winchester barely paused, chewing his first bite of the bar. "Let me guess. You're disappointed in me. You thought I only ate bugs. Well, tough shit."

Sam paused, thoughtful. It made sense.

"You always bring 'em along with you?"

"Every time." The survivalist smiled, wolfish. "Got stuck on an iceberg in the arctic circle for a week back in '08. People will tell you there's a way to survive out there." He shook his head.

"Fucking idiots. You ever see them try?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, I'm grateful you have them." He gestured at the limp pile of bugs and berries to their left. "I wasn't really keen on eating those."

"Neither am I," Winchester sighed, leaning back into the cave wall. "It's energy and it's important, but Jesus Christ. Bugs are fucking disgusting."

"Yeah? What's the worst one you ever ate?"

Winchester visibly shuddered. "Rhino beetle larva in Africa. Oh god, it exploded on the camera." He shook his head, sending Sam a grin. "I throw up every time I see the clip."

"Hey, you get paid to do it." Sam leaned his head back as well, wincing as his bruise from yesterday hit the stone.

"I also get paid to do a lot of things no one else wants to do." Winchester immediately noticed the wince, of course. "What's wrong with your head?"

"Nothing," Sam said too quickly. "Why?"

Winchester reached across the small gap between them, thumbing Sam's hair out of the way. He winced as surprisingly light fingertips brushed across the bruise, trying to edge out of the man's grasp.

"Hold still."

Sam's head nearly exploded as the other man straddled his lap, grabbing his head between his hands. "It's _fine_."

"No, it's not. How much water have you had?"

Oh, God. This was torture. Dean Winchester was in his lap. "E-enough." He stuttered out.

"You're lucky you didn't get a concussion." Winchester said. "Was it from the camera yesterday? When you…fell?"

Sam blushed (even further) as Winchester's eyes fell to the floor. Guess they weren't talking about that either. "Yeah. Whacked it pretty hard."

"You need to tell me about these things," The survivalist said, mouth set in a firm line. "Damn it, Wesson."

Sam held his breath as Winchester edged off his lap, fixing his gaze on a spot above his head. "Am I fired?"

"No." Winchester barked from his spot on the floor.

Sam sighed. The rain was crashing down outside, the sound of thunder echoing through their space every few minutes. The happy mood was gone.

"How long do you think we'll be in here? Do you think it'll flood?"

"It shouldn't flood. We'll be in here until it's not hurricane season outside."

"You said there wasn't a hurricane!"

It was Winchester's turn to sigh. "Well, it's November. Hurricane season."

Something crashed to the ground outside, not that far away from their cave. Sam pretended not to notice the worry that flashed across Winchester's face.

"Let's play a game." He blurted out. The survivalist raised a skeptical eyebrow. "No, seriously."

"You really wanna play truth or dare in some cave during a hurricane." The survivalist looked slightly amused. "Fine. You start."

Sam swallowed. "Okay. I choose dare."

"I dare you to go to sleep."

* * *

Dean sighed in relief as Wesson finally drifted off hours later, quietly leaning backwards and away from the sleeping man. There was barely enough room for one of them to lie down, much less two. Wesson's breath huffed lightly against his leg, warm and reassuring.

Sam. His name was Sam.

He felt rather than saw another tree go down outside, crashing against the ground with enough force to shake their little alcove. Sam stirred at his feet, hazel eyes blurry and confused.

"Go back to sleep," Dean whispered. "You're safe. You're okay."

Wesson's eyes fluttered shut, the man's body curling up into a ball. It was almost…adorable.

He sat even closer to the door, positioning himself so Wesson's head was behind his body. He'd keep watch. Come hell or high water (or in this case, a hurricane), nothing was getting past him.

Sam dreamed obliviously behind him, safe.

* * *

A/N Next part will be up Wednesday. Leave me a review and tell me what you thought!:)


	5. Hawaii: Part Three

A/N Here's the final part of the Hawaii chapter!

Thank you for all of your comments! :) The next episode will be...the French Alps!

* * *

**November, 2014. Hawaiian Archipelago, Island 2.**

Dean Winchester was one of the most well-known survival experts of his era. His adventures spanned across the entire globe, and his physical prowess was unmatched.

But Dean Winchester was also human, and being human meant eating things. Drinking. _Sleeping_.

He'd planned on keeping watch through the hurricane, letting Sam sleep, but things didn't always go his way. In fact, they rarely ever did.

The last thing he remembered was tipping his head sideways, closing his eyes for just one second…

* * *

Sam woke to the feeling of arms around him, snuggling back into the heat of the other person. He snuffled a few times, feeling completely at peace. Warm. Protected.

"Jess?" He murmured drowsily, stretching his hand backwards to touch her face. His whole world shattered as his fingertips found stubble instead.

_Jess was gone._

Sam shot awake, heart pounding as everything came back to him. He took in the darkness of the cave, the remains of their door from last night…

The arms around him.

He craned his head backwards, praying he wouldn't find-

Dean Winchester, in all of his survivalist glory, snuggling up on his back like Sam was a teddy bear. The man looked utterly peaceful, the lines between his eyes smoothed out. Sam bit down on the urge to scream.

Any other day—_any_ other moment, Sam would let him sleep, he looked that happy—hell, Sam _liked_ cuddling. But Winchester would freak out when he woke up, and he'd yell at Sam and then Sam would get fired.

He still couldn't get over the fact that his boss was _spooning_ him. He could feel every inch of Winchester's body pressed up against his back, and while, _yes_, it was so, so utterly wrong.

It was probably just some freak cuddling instinct anyway, close quarters or something—unless _Sam_ had grabbed the other man by accident last night? God, he hoped not.

The main priority of the next five minutes was to extract himself without waking the other man. The less Winchester knew about the covert snuggling, the better. If Sam managed to escape, they could pretend like it'd never happened, and Sam could still pay rent on his crappy apartment he never lived in.

He started by trying to shuffle out of Winchester's arms, gripping the rocks on either side of him and pulling forwards. The survivalist sighed once at the movement, cinching his arms tighter around Sam's waist.

_Okay, plan B_. Sam maneuvered himself until he could reach Winchester's locked arms, putting them face to face as he grabbed the man's wrist. He gently put pressure on it, trying to urge the man to break his hold. No dice. The survivalist's grip grew tighter, pushing Sam's face into his chest.

"Winchester!" He couldn't even move his arms now. "_Winchester_."

The survivalist mumbled something into Sam's hair, still fast asleep as he held them together. And any other day, Sam would be so with that. Sexy cuddling? Sure. Choking to death under a man who probably hated him?

"Winchester!" Sam was done. He couldn't breathe. "_Dean_-"

Winchester's eyes fluttered open the second Sam said his first name, arms unlocking and letting blessed air back into Sam's lungs. The other man shoved himself backwards, nearly slamming into the cave wall.

"_Jesus_," Sam choked on oxygen, still on his back. Shocked green eyes found his, slightly glazed with pain. "Oh, God, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Winchester choked out, grabbing his head. He looked utterly shocked, maybe even disgusted. Sam shrank away from the other man's gaze, feeling guilty.

"Winchester-"

The survivalist pushed away from his outstretched hand, stumbling out of the cave like he was on fire. Sam just put his head in his hands and cursed his bad luck.

* * *

By the time Sam awkwardly made his way out of the cave, Winchester had already cleaned up a majority of the trees and bush that had fallen directly in their path. Heavy palms layered the area around them, however, one tree cracked almost in half just above their tiny little cave.

It was good thinking on Winchester's part to have them sleep there—as much as it pained Sam to acknowledge, it'd probably saved their lives.

Winchester was pacing awkwardly in front of one of the downed palms, eyes shifting and refusing to settle on Sam. He sighed once, hefting his (thankfully undamaged) camera and walking over.

"We need to film a shelter situation, catch that wild pig, and find the freshwater spring." Winchester said stiffly, eyes on Sam's feet. "I figured we'd start with the spring since it's nearby."

Sam nodded amiably. "Okay. Whatever you want." He paused, twisting the camera strap between his fingers. "Listen, about last night-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Winchester looked scandalized, _embarrassed_, even. "Get the camera up and filming."

Sam hid his sympathy behind the viewfinder, signaling Winchester with a quick gesture. The other man began his spiel on water and tracking animals, picking up perfectly from where they'd stopped yesterday. That was the magic of editing; one week on an island could seem like one day on television, never mind that they'd survived a hurricane.

Winchester's orders were short and direct, barely recognizing Sam's presence beyond the camera. They traveled down the natural slope of the island, "discovering" the freshwater spring at the bottom. Every time Sam took his face away from the lens, Winchester's gaze dropped. He'd grunt his line without his usual enthusiasm, looking more like a grumpy drill sergeant than a survival expert.

They were halfway through the hunt for the wild pig when Winchester nearly stumbled on a rock trying to avoid brushing up against Sam, which was the end of the rope for the frazzled cameraman.

"Okay, break." Sam put the camera down, fixing the other man with a _come to Jesus _stare. He held up his hand at the other man's protests. "No. You're taking five, so sit your ass down."

Winchester sent him a glare that obviously would've shattered his very being if it had connected, considering he was still avoiding Sam like the plague. "So what, you're my mother now?"

"No, I'm your cameraman telling you I haven't gotten a decent clip out of you in the last forty five minutes." Sam tried not to let too much irritation show, spreading his arms. "Look, we need to talk."

"I'm doing my job," Winchester narrowed his eyes, settling against a tree like Sam was the one being a drama queen. "You're the one getting all Doctor Phil on me. I'm fine."

"You won't look at me, you can't touch me. How the hell are we supposed to film, then?" Sam refused to let the man walk away when Winchester tried to move, getting in his space.

"Is there something wrong with me? I don't know if you forgot, but this is supposed to be a partnership. You got a problem? Cause you're acting like a real jerk."

Sam refused to let one, small mistake ruin this job. Not when whatever they'd had last night—a small little moment of relaxed happiness, the potential for something more—was on the line.

Winchester actually looked shocked, mouth hanging open. Good. No one had put him in his place before. A second later he was shoving Sam into a tree, hands gripping his shirt.

Sam grunted a little as the wood hit his back, watching with bated breath as Winchester's mouth worked. This was it. He was going to get fired—or worse, shoved off a cliff.

"I, uh-" Winchester shook his head, finally raising his gaze to meet Sam's. The drill sergeant façade had dropped slightly. "I apologize. For—today."

"I…accept your apology." Sam blinked. He really did. It must've taken a lot out of him to mutter those few words. "Jerk."

Winchester's eyes widened comically for a hilarious moment before he realized Sam was joking. "Bitch."

Sam laughed at the man's mock-offended tone, Winchester dropping his grip on Sam's collar. They stared at each other for a long moment, whatever had been torn silently mending itself before them.

He punched Winchester on the shoulder lightly, sending the other man a grin.

"C'mon. Let's go."

* * *

"I thought we were filming?"

Sam carefully set the camera behind some fronds, zippering up his case. "We will be…but you said yourself, we only have three things to do today. We can take a break."

Winchester looked slightly worried, biting his lip. "I still have to set a signal fire-"

"We can do that afterwards."

"—and capture that damn pig."

Sam clapped his hands together. "Great! That'll be lunch. Let's go swimming."

"Swimming." The survivalist's enthusiasm clearly knew no bounds. "You're serious."

"We're taking a break. You're stressed, I can feel it." Sam nodded at the ocean a few meters from them. "C'mon. Let's have some fun."

The other man sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Why are you so happy?"

"Why are you so _grumpy_?" Sam tugged on the man's arm, pointing at the ocean. "I bet you never took a break in your life, old man."

"_Old man_?" Winchester gaped. "Oh, you're _on_."

Sam yelped as the other man dove for him, ducking out of the way and sprinting for the shore. He heard Winchester behind him and swore the man was hot on his heels. His heart lurched as the man's fingertips brushed his shoulder, kicking off his shoes as soon as his feet hit sand.

He was nearly in the water when Winchester finally managed to grab his arm, yanking him to the left. They both lost their balance, toppling into the salt water as Sam shouted in surprise.

"Too slow." Winchester was grinning as they surfaced, hair plastered to his face. Sam nearly fainted at the genuine smile, his heart aching. The survivalist was ethereal in the noon sun.

"How's that for an old man?"

"I don't know, I think I won." Sam peered into the water. "You obviously cheated. You're still wearing shoes."

"Yeah, but I took my shirt off." Winchester pinched Sam's t-shirt. "Call it a tie?"

"Sure." Sam swam a few feet out, grinning. He couldn't help it. "Old man."

"I'm thirty, asshat." Winchester splashed water at him, then spotted something. "Hey, look down."

Sam put his face in the water and promptly spluttered, eyes stinging. "Where?"

"No, don't actually look down." Winchester sounded amused, smile curving his lips. He grabbed Sam's neck gently, tilting his head. "From above."

Sam followed his instructions. He gasped loudly.

"Holy shit."

There was a world of life twenty feet beneath them, fishes and crustaceans swimming every direction, coral waving back and forth in the current. A stingray flew through the water a few feet to his left, barely missing Winchester's foot.

"Yeah," Winchester replied to his gasp. "Pretty cool, right?"

"I kinda wanna go grab my camera." Sam said enthusiastically. "There's—it's just-"

Winchester let his grip on Sam's neck slip, smiling. "I know, Wesson."

"Call me Sam." He blurted out.

The cameraman watched as Winchester froze, praying he hadn't said the wrong thing. The other man seemed to mull it over, lips pursed.

"Sam." Winchester tested the name out, drawing out the _m_. "Alright. But only if you call me Dean."

"And offend my employer?" Sam gasped dramatically, splashing water everywhere. He was being an ass, but the other man seemed to be enjoying it.

Winchester rolled his eyes at his antics. "Fair's fair."

"Fine. _Dean._" Sam splashed water the other man's way. "Do I have to put _Lord_ in front of it, or only when other people are around?"

A grin spread across the survivalist's face. "Bitch."

Sam just smiled, cheeky.

"Jerk."

* * *

They spent the noon hour splashing around in the saltwater, enjoying the sun, and, surprisingly enough, each other. Gone was the grumpy, order-centric drill sergeant Sam had learned to ignore. This Dean was lighter, playful, even. (Basically, not an asshole) They took turns diving down to the coral, Dean laughing at nothing, carefree. Sam couldn't believe the 180 they'd taken, happy even as the other man dunked him into the waves, mock fighting their way to a tentative truce.

Afternoon found them stretched out on the white sand, sunning themselves. Dean was bitching about his wet shoes, while Sam was laughing and looking entirely unsympathetic. The younger man's stomach growled, reminding both of them of their original mission.

"Gotta go catch that damn pig," Dean groaned, throwing an arm across his face. "I don't wanna move."

"Lazy." Sam swatted at his arm, but he made no move to get up. "C'mon…I gotta have lunch. You wouldn't let me starve, would you?"

"No." Dean said, pushing himself up. He eyed his damp shoes with distaste before shoving them on. "Grab your camera. Let's go."

Sam got up, walking into the forest. He found the tree he'd stashed the camera under and quickly turned it on, absently brushing sand off his shoulders. His t-shirt was still wet—and, thanks to their noontime nap, caked in sand.

Dean broke into a wide smirk once he saw Sam's back. "Nice collection of sand you've got there."

"Fuck off," Sam said good-naturedly, focusing the lens on his face. "You're good."

They continued their "pursuit" of the wild pig, which, according to Dean a few minutes earlier, was hiding a few dozen feet away from them in a crawl hole. For the sake of television, however, they stumbled around for a good thirty minutes looking confused and earnest.

Dean eventually set a small rope trap right outside of the crawl hole, demonstrating how to loop the vines and set it correctly. Sam kept a wary eye on the small hole, twitching every time he thought he saw movement.

"Dean?"

The other man pushed him back towards a tree, pulling brush over their hiding spot.

"Now, we wait."

* * *

The pig came out of his cave slowly, obviously smelling the berries Dean had crumbled inside the loop of the trap. It was slightly larger than a normal pig, covered in dark patches of hair. His eyes widened as he saw its tiny tusks, indicating it was a female. He prayed there weren't piglets nearby. Mother boars were deadly when they felt their young were in danger.

Sam was a few feet behind him, crouched behind a tree as they watched the pig. They were a dozen or so yards away from the trap, a safe enough distance—if the trap held.

The pig snorted around (there was no other word for it) glancing at the brush hiding them before wandering over to the berries. It sniffed at the food, digging its snout into the vines and pulling a mouthful free. Dean held his breath as it turned around, foot falling into the center of the trap.

A panicked squeal sounded as the trap engaged, snapping around the boar's leg and pinning the pig to the tree. Dean let out a victorious shout, pushing the brush away and hurrying over to the pig.

The mother boar was enraged, butting her head at the tree and biting at the vines. The second she saw Dean she lunged forward, pulling at the trap.

"Stay back," He warned Sam, holding a hand out. The pig had a leash of about four feet, but that was enough to topple the other man if he got close enough. "Pigs like this can weigh almost two hundred pounds, even if they look small."

Dean steeled himself, unsheathing his knife and lunging at the pig. He managed to pin it on its side, but the animal twisted viciously in his grip. He let out a grunt of pain as its foot connected with his ribs, standing up and backing up to try again. He sent a concerned glance towards Sam, but the cameraman seemed to be staying back.

He dove for its legs this time, pulling the knife up before the pig could kick, effectively gutting the animal. He held the body down while it twitched and kicked its life away, breathing heavily as he finally released the corpse.

"And that…" He held the pig up by the legs. "Is how you catch a wild pig."

Sam applauded silently from behind the camera, sending him a thumbs up. Dean brushed the leaves and dirt from his face, hoisting his spoils on his shoulder and moving towards the beach.

They cooked the pig after Dean gutted it correctly this time, laying strips out over hardened driftwood to cook as they filmed a small shelter demonstration scene. It had nothing on their cave hideout, but a few pieces of wood across the boughs of a tree made an effective bed no matter where you were; high off the ground, sturdy, and sheltered from rain.

By the time they got back to the beach it was almost evening. Dean handed out the cooked meat, divvying the portions evenly this time. He really was hungry, and the pork didn't smell that bad.

Sam let out a gasp as he tasted the crisp meat. "Wow."

"What?"

The kid shook his head, smiling. "It's just, it tastes like normal pork. Like the stuff we have at home."

Dean smirked. "I tell everyone it tastes like chicken."

"You say that about everything."

"Not about bugs." He refused to shudder this time. "I make no illusions about those. They suck."

Sam chewed thoughtfully for a moment, sending a look towards the sky. "Do you think we'll need to set a signal fire soon?"

Dean shook his head. "When dinner's done we can put some leaves on the fire. Should smoke it up pretty good."

They did just that a half hour later, sending a plume of black smoke into the beautiful sky. The sunset was glorious to their right, heralding a much different night than the one before. Soon, the distant sound of chopper blades broke the calm.

"I can't believe we're going home." Sam smiled at him, dimples showing. He was holding the camera in his hands, but he wasn't filming yet. "These past few days were crazy."

"I'd…understand, if you didn't want to keep going." Dean fixed his gaze on the ground. "I know this was just part time."

Sam was silent for a long moment. Dean studied the younger man, heart lurching at the blank expression on his face. He'd almost let himself hope, for once, but now-well.

He'd screwed up every job; every cameraman or sound technician left. Why should Wesson be any different?

"You got another cameraman hanging around?"

Dean blinked at the words, head shooting up. "No."

"Then I think I'll stay." Sam tilted his head, hazel eyes flashing in the sunset. "If that's alright with the boss man?"

The helicopter was almost to the beach, a long ladder hanging down from the cockpit. Dean smiled, unable to hide his delight.

"It's alright with the boss man."

* * *

A/N Leave me a review, and tell me what you thought!:) I plan to have the French Alps episode up by Friday.


	6. French Alps: Part One

A/N For LeeMarieJack, who is feeling under the weather. Thanks to everyone who's reading! Here's the first part of the Alps episode...:)

* * *

**December, 2014. LAX, en route to Paris. **

"So you're not out to kill each other,"

Sam pushed Gabriel's hands away from the third candy rack in the terminal, sending an apologetic look to the storeowner. "No. I told you, we're friends."

"Friends?" The other man was only momentarily distracted from the candy. "Kid, it's been two weeks since he's seen you. He was probably just happy to get a competent cameraman for once."

Sam bristled at Gabriel's words, refusing to give in and cross his arms like a put-off teenager. "Oh yeah? So why did he ask me to come back?"

"Kid-"

"Stop _calling _me that_._"

"—I'm happy for you. I really am." Gabriel put a hand out, stopping their progress down the long terminal. "I had a chat with Winchester's buddy, Novak. He's just a surprised as I am."

"So?"

"So, it's a good thing that you're getting along." Gabriel said. "But you start going off into Dean Winchester dreamland, and I get worried."

Sam glared at the shorter man. "You make it sound like I have some kind of crush."

"That's what it sounds like!" Gabriel put a hand on his chest, pushing before the cameraman could loom over him too much. "I'm saying be careful, man. A deserted island is one thing—this next trip is dangerous. I had to fill out paperwork so you were legally allowed to fill out _more_ paperwork!"

"I can handle snow," Sam gently nudged Gabe's back, pushing them towards their exit gate. He could just see the number at the end of the international terminal, but couldn't make out faces from their distance. "Why are you so worried?"

Gabriel let out a pent-up breath, running a hand back through his hair. "I don't even know. The Powers that Be are happy, you're happy-"

Sam patted him on the shoulder, craning his neck over the crowds. He spotted Dean standing next to Novak and broke into a smile.

"—disgustingly happy." Gabriel said next to him. "God, you two are making my teeth rot."

"Dean!" Sam ignored the shorter man, resisting the urge to run. The survivalist's head shot up at the call, his face breaking into an equally impressive smile.

* * *

Castiel watched as the younger cameraman embraced Dean, raising an eyebrow as the survivalist hugged back. He'd never seen a reunion so joyous between Winchester and…anyone.

"Sammy." Dean teased Wesson, pulling his hair. "Did you miss me?"

"No," The cameraman _pouted_, punching Dean's shoulder a second later. "You're obviously confused."

"Ready for the snow?"

"Are _you_, old man?"

Castiel traded shocked looks with Wesson's handler who was standing a few feet away, running a hand through his hair repeatedly. He made an executive decision not to get caught up in the reunion, taking a few steps over to the other man as the boys traded sugar-sweet insults.

"Gabriel, right?" He held out his hand, keeping his voice low. "Castiel Novak. We've met once or twice."

"Of course," The amber-eyed man shook his hand vigorously, if a bit distracted. They both watched in awe (and a little fear) as the two men ignored the whole world around them, content to speak in hushed tones. A second later Dean threw his head back, teeth flashing as he laughed at something Sam said.

"They're really something, aren't they?" Gabriel asked, admiration clear in his eyes. Castiel nodded, remaining silent. They both laughed as a group of girls snuck a photo of the two of them from behind, sneaking away before the two men could notice.

"Yes. Yes, they are." Castiel smiled, pride washing through him. "They're a good match, I believe. Soulmates."

Gabriel snorted. "You think they'll get back alive, love guru?"

The two men turned around as if they'd heard them, waving boarding passes at their handlers. Castiel waved back, Gabriel following suit a second later.

"In answer to your question; yes." Castiel patted Gabriel on the back, smiling to himself at the forlorn expression on the other man's face. It truly was like sending kids off to school for the first time. "They'll be fine."

Gabriel nodded. "Sure they will. I bet you five bucks someone comes back injured." He looked at Castiel, accusatory. "They always do with your man, don't they?"

Castiel withheld his anger, exuding patience. He waved at a store to the side. "Come. Why don't we talk about this somewhere else? You look like you need a cup of coffee."

"Coffee," Gabriel seemed to think about it, general irritation lessening.

"Alright. But you're buying."

* * *

**December, 2014. French Alps.**

The second they touched down, fierce winds pulled at the parachutes, sending them tumbling through the snow, rolling around and around. Sam tried in vain to keep the camera straight, giving up when the parachute wound around his chest, effectively trapping him. It took a long time to settle, but when he did Dean was next to him, grinning madly.

"You good?" He called to Sam, who grunted an affirmative. _Now, how to get out…?_

His question was answered by a knife splitting the parachute's fabric, untangling his legs and chest. Sam breathed a sigh of relief as Dean's face appeared above him, turning to embarrassment as he assessed the situation.

"Rough landing." Dean didn't tease, surprisingly. He held a hand out, pulling Sam (and the camera) to his feet. His parachute was billowing behind him, enviously untangled. Sam just shook his head at the luck of it, trying to get the camera up.

The snow around them seemed to stretch for miles, covering trees, mountains and everything in between. The sun beat down from right above them, reflecting off the snow. Sam adjusted the lens for the glare, and then gave Dean the _ok_ with his gloved hand.

"My name is Dean Winchester, and I've just been dropped in the French Alps." Dean spread his arms wide, gesturing at the impressive expanse. "Hundreds of tourists get lost here every year. If you're caught in this situation, keep calm. It might be one of the most dangerous climates, but if you navigate it safely, you might just survive."

Sam followed the other man as he turned towards the peak of the mountain they were on. He grunted as his boots dipped almost four feet into the wet snow, pushing through it. Dean was doing the same, but with a little more grace.

"We need to start with the holy trinity of survival; Food, shelter, and a way to signal for help." The other man was a few feet above Sam, crouched on a piece of ice. "However, in a place like this, shelter can be the most important factor. Snowstorms and violent winds can form at any moment—so it's important to be prepared."

Sam nodded at the advice, watching as the other man rolled up his parachute, making a note to do the same. His heart was pumping wildly, causing a sheen of sweat to cover his face. They were back-another adventure. It set in gradually.

"I'm going to dig a snow shelter, also known as a snow cave." Dean was pulling the parachute's backpack towards him, fiddling with one of the pockets. "Anything is better than your bare hands, so if you have a backpack, you can use the back-protector as a makeshift shovel."

Sam zoomed in as Dean removed a hard plastic sheet from the parachute's backpack, bending it in his hands so it curved. He held it in front of him, miming digging.

"You'll want to build your shelter perpendicular to any wind. Since the wind is blowing from the left, I'm going to dig here." Dean ducked into a huge pile of snow, examining it. "Your cave needs to be at least three feet deeper than the snow above it, and three times bigger than your body. Any larger or smaller, and it's bound to collapse on you."

He dug into the snow with the shovel, pulling the snow out and away from him. A trench easily formed, soft snow yielding quickly.

"Dig your cave with a wide opening. You can block the opening with a backpack later—but only if you dig a vent." Dean reached above the arch of the snow, digging a hand into the ceiling until a hole formed. Oxygen, of course, was important.

Sam followed Dean for the hour or so it took to build the snow cave, eventually getting on his knees and following the man into the trench. He smiled to himself as he noticed the size of the cave. The survivalist was making it a couple sizes too big for one person—but perfectly sized for two.

He barely hid a smirk as Dean talked about creating a sleeping platform, looking over the queen-size hunk of snow. The other man placed their parachutes over the space, creating a cozy little cranny.

_It's not like I'm not used to it already _Sam thought, reminiscing on their makeshift shelter in Hawaii. The snow cave looked similar, if not a bit flatter.

When he was done, Dean laid across the "bed", spreading his arms wide. His face was flushed, cheeks slightly pink from exertion. Sam wondered if he was the same, feeling a little lightheaded.

The other man gave him the signal a moment later, so he ditched the camera and joined him on the bed, happy to be at rest. His earlier thoughts had been correct—it was big enough for the two of them, even if it was small. Sam couldn't get over the fact that they were filming again-the whole shebang; jumping out of planes, making shelters...

"This is pretty cool," Sam said, staring up in awe at the ice ceiling. "It's like that Frozen movie, where she makes that whole castle thingie-"

"You're comparing me to a blonde woman in a dress?" Dean said, mock-offended. He smacked Sam. "How _dare_ you."

"Shut up, I'm kidding." Sam spread his hands across the expanse of their bed, still genuinely impressed. "If I'd known you could make these so quickly, I think my childhood would've been a lot different. Me and my sister would've spent _hours _in one of these."

Dean's face closed instantly, eyes going blank. Sam froze, knowing he'd said something wrong. He waited patiently as the other man took a long breath, exhaling it a second later.

"Yeah."

Sam eyed him carefully, rolling onto his side so he could see him better. "So what's the plan, man?"

"Food."

Sam nodded. "I like food."

"I know." The other man finally cracked a smile. "I could hear your belly rumble on the airplane. Like a goddamn earthquake."

"Shut up," Sam said playfully, punching him in the shoulder. "Food…so the lake? Are we fishing?"

Dean nodded. "We'll set some traps later, but I have to do one thing first."

"What?"

The other man grinned, punching him back.

"I'll tell you once we get there."

* * *

"You're serious?" Sam gaped. "Please tell me you're not serious."

The survivalist was already shucking a majority of his clothes, shivering in the cold air.

"I need to demonstrate this."

"_Why_?" Sam glared at the other man, infuriated. The lack of clothing wasn't helping his cause. "Why would _anyone _voluntarily jump into a frozen lake?"

Dean's jaw set into a hard line as he took his socks off, face closing off. "I just need to do it. It's a survival tactic and something people need to know if they want to avoid hypothermia."

"You're going to _get _hypothermia!" Sam put the camera down, crossing his arms. "This is insane. You're insane."

"Step back from the water."

"Don't order me around! If I knew you were gonna do this I wouldn't have agreed!"

Dean sighed, the effect slightly marred by the full-body shiver that wracked his frame a second later. "Just get the damn camera up, Wesson."

"Oh, so we're back to last names now?" Sam glared, hoping holes burned in Winchester's head. He reluctantly grabbed the camera, hiding his hurt expression behind the viewfinder. "Fuck you."

"Go over to the left and stand on the edge of the ice," Winchester ordered, gesturing with a shivering hand towards a clump of snow to his right.

His teeth were chattering, arms wrapped around his body. He wore only one layer of clothing, while Sam wore at least three. The man was insane. There was no other explanation. Sam did as he was told, pushing through the snow to stand on the ice a few feet away from the hole Winchester had made.

"Ready."

Winchester didn't look at him, eyeing the icy water and obviously talking himself into the ridiculous idea he'd come up with. Sam rolled his eyes, caught between worry and irritation. This was a stupid, stupid idea. He could feel it in his bones.

The survivalist launched into a surprisingly calm commentary on what he was about to do, barely a tremor in his voice. Sam moved to his right slightly, trying to get the angle right. His foot nearly slipped on the ice, but he held his own, triumphantly keeping the camera upright.

_Ha, Not falling for that again_.

Winchester was rubbing his hands together, about to jump. Sam moved his foot one an inch to the right. A small crack sounded, vibrating through the sole of his boot.

_Keep it together, Wesson_. He didn't look down. _Camera on Winchester. You have this. It's just a small crack. Happens all the time._

Winchester hadn't noticed, eyes fixed squarely on the water in front of him. A second later Sam felt another crack, louder than the first one. His heart froze as the ice beneath him gave way, sending him head over heels into icy, frigid water.

* * *

Dean was about to jump when he felt a ripple in the water, his whole body seizing. He looked up just in time to see Wesson's head disappear beneath the frigid water before everything went utterly silent.

_Oh god. No. _He moved before he could even process the event, hands shaking. _Not again. Please not again_.

The spot Wesson had been standing on was cracked down the middle, sporting a large hole where the cameraman had fallen. It took less than three seconds for him to make the decision to jump in. He bit his lip to keep from shouting out as the icy water hit his chest, pushing the breath from his lungs.

Dean opened his eyes under the ice, spotting dark, murky shapes in the icy water. They had about five minutes before swimming became dangerous, and even a health adult only had a fifty/fifty chance of making it out safely. He surfaced for another breath and dove again, heart lurching in his chest as he spotted a dark shape to his left.

His numb fingers brushed Sam's coat, barely finding enough purchase to drag the other man's body towards him. He was still holding the goddamned camera, a large bulky shape in the water.

The survivalist pulled them both up to the surface, aiming for the hole they'd sunk into. He gasped for air, the previously-frigid wind like fire in his lungs. He hauled Sam bodily over the ice, panting.

"C-camera." Wesson coughed, water running down his face. He tried to roll back into the water. "G-gotta get t-the c-camera."

"I have the d-damn camera." Dean grabbed the piece of equipment before it could sink again, throwing it onto the ice next to Wesson. He grabbed hold of a rock to his left and pulled himself out, body aching. He fell to his knees next to his cameraman-

Whose lips were turning blue.

"F-fuck. _Fuck_." Dean pushed himself to his feet, groaning. Pins and needles were the only sensations in his legs. He grabbed Sam's arm,

"Move."

The other man was already fading, eyes closing as he face planted in the snow. "Where we goin', De? S'comfy here."

Dean shoved him hard. "Wesson, if you wanna live, you gotta get off your ass and _move_."

He was rewarded by a weak attempt from Sam, who barely managed to sling an arm around Dean's shoulder. The survivalist spotted their snow shelter in the distance, grunting under the weight.

"What did y-you have for lunch, e-elephants?" Dean joked weakly, despair increasing as Wesson didn't respond. His head lolled on his neck, face tucked into Dean's shoulder.

"Almost there, buddy. Hold on."

They weren't. It was at least fifty feet to their camp, and a twenty-minute walk; maybe more. Dean gritted his teeth.

He'd make it in ten.

* * *

Sam fell in and out of consciousness throughout the walk, eyes fluttering as the extreme cold began to set in. Dean shoved the kid out of his coat and pants halfway through, dragging his shivering, almost-naked body pressed close to his. The best thing to do was strip completely, but he couldn't do that until they were back at the shelter.

True to his word, they made it there just shy of ten minutes. Dean hauled Sam into the little crevice he'd dug out, wrapping him in the parachute as he took his own clothes off.

_This is fucked up, but you'll thank me in the morning_ he thought. Sam shivered as Dean took his socks and boots off, finally taking off the other soaked layers the kid had been wearing. When that was said and done he grabbed one of his protein bars and jumped onto the sleeping platform, grabbing Sam's body and hugging it to his chest.

The kid shivered once, the movement wracking his whole body. His lips were slowly turning back to red, losing their blue tinge. Dean made sure the cameraman's extremities were tucked in before wrapping them in the chute.

_C'mon…c'mon. Wake up. Wake. Up. _

"Sam?" he croaked out, throat burning. "Sam, you gotta wake up for me, man."

The kid snuffled once, tucking his cold as fuck nose into Dean's neck. He lightly pinched Sam's arm, getting a small kick from the other man.

"De?" Sam muttered, eyes fluttering open. "S-smthn' happen?"

_Oh thank God_

"You fell through the ice, dumbass." Dean felt something burning behind his eyes. Probably leftover effects from the icy water. "You doing okay?"

"Cold."

"I know." Dean said, tightening his hold. "Cold is bad."

"S'why m'hugging you?"

He almost laughed at the sleepy confusion on the kid's face. "Yeah. Yeah, we're trying to keep warm."

"M'kay." Sam started to close his eyes, but Dean was quicker. He grabbed the energy bar from his pocket, ripping it open and shoving part of it into Sam's mouth.

"_Mmf_!"

Dean let out a bark of laughter at the kid's expression. Only Sam could make cold water survival funny.

"Eat up. It'll keep you warm."

"Y'too." Sam mumbled around the bar in his mouth, hand nudging against his chest. "Y'too, D'n."

He sighed, breaking the bar apart and placing some in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed in full sight of the cameraman. "Happy?"

Sam's eyes were drooping, breath huffing against his neck. They were both getting warmer, thank goodness.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"M'sorry I fell in."

Dean smiled, tugging Sam closer. "Nah, man. I get to snuggle with you more."

"Stupid." Sam mumbled, eyes closing. He _yawned_, of all things. "Dean?"

Dean looked down at the kid, ducking his head into soft hair. "Uh huh?"

"We're gonna have to shoot that scene again, aren't we?"

* * *

A/N Shortie, I know! Leave me a review and tell me what you thought! Next chapter should be up next week...with a guaranteed lack of hypothermia this time:)


	7. French Alps: Part Two

A/N Here's the second part of the French Alps chapter! I hope you guys are enjoying. Thanks so much for your reviews and PMs. The next episode will be revealed at the end of the chapter.

Kudos to my awesome beta for, well, betaing. I'd be lost without you.

* * *

**December, 2014. French Alps. **

Sam shivered once, burrowing his head back into the warmth he could feel curling around him. Every limb in his body felt indistinct, secure against his chest like he'd been swaddled.

He felt calm and warm, something that felt weird considering…considering what?

A breath huffed against his neck, and everything fell apart. Again.

* * *

Dean felt Sam stiffen against him and sighed internally, relinquishing the hold he'd had around the other man's torso. His hands slid across warm flesh, something he was more thankful than ever to feel. It looked like they'd avoided the brunt of hypothermia, and a quick glance at Sam's fingers and toes confirmed it.

"Dean?" the cameraman twisted in his loosened hold, still half asleep.

"Hey," he tried to hide the stupid look of affection he could feel forming on his face. "You, ah, awake?"

"Yeah." Sam coughed suddenly; it shook his entire body with the force it exerted. One glance at Dean revealed the panic in the other man's eyes—and something else. Disgust?

"I'm good. Just need a moment. I need my clothes-"

He slid out of Dean's arms, ungracefully kicking the parachute wrapped around his legs out of the way, a corner snagging and falling across his back. The kid barely made it to a sitting position before he was coughing again, choking out a wet, unhappy noise that made alarm bells go off in Dean's head.

The survivalist opened his mouth to speak and stopped, startled as the edge of the parachute that had caught on Sam's shoulder slid away.

"Sam," he growled, lightning tearing through him. Fear and anger made quick passes at him but he ignored the emotions, dampened by the flinch he saw wrack the cameraman's body.

Scars ran the length of the other man's back, raised and only just beginning to heal, pink and shiny around the edges. They left the skin distorted and warped, bending towards the stitches and grafts he could see outlined even in the pale light of the cave.

"_Shit_," Sam cursed, grabbing for a corner of the forgotten parachute. "Where are my clothes?"

"On the floor," Dean breathed out, barely moving a hand to gesture. "Sam…what _happened_?"

"Fell into a burning ring of fire," the other man quipped bitterly, shoving on a still-damp t-shirt. He didn't turn his back to the survivalist again, backing away into the far corner of the cave to avoid his gaze. "_What_?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at the normally cheerful kid's tone, doing a mental 180. "People get hypothermia walking around in damp clothes. You already sound sick-" He grabbed hold of Sam's shirt, pulling it up.

"Don't _touch _me!" Wesson looked beyond irritated, wearing an expression that would've sent Satan running. He shoved Dean's hand away before he could pull off the shirt. "It's _your _fault we're wet in the first place, asshole!"

"You wanna be a bitch?" Dean sat up, glaring back. He was so fucking done. "Fine. Don't die on my watch."

He stood to leave, blocked by the enraged cameraman. "What, you're just gonna leave?"

Dean ignored him, shouldering the other man out of the way, pushing his shoes on. He was no better than Wesson, throwing on wet clothing, but his pride wouldn't let him back down. He put on the coat he'd managed to keep dry and stumbled out of the shelter, fuming.

* * *

Dean got as far down the mountain as the lake they'd been at yesterday before he remembered he had no line, making fishing a definite impossibility. He had no hooks either, but that was easily fixed with a little bit of wire from the parachute. Half-formed plans whirled through his head, mocking him.

God, but he was mad at Sam. He was mad at himself. There was nothing he wasn't mad about, from their wet clothes to the fact that seeing Sam drop through the ice had been the most nerve-racking moment of his life. The feeling of cold flesh in his arms as he'd practically dragged Sam up the mountain through four feet of snow was one he'd relive in nightmares for days to come.

And—and, at the same time, being able to hold Sam tore at every conscious feeling in his body. Feeling Sam warm up next to him, cradling the taller man and protecting him—god, it felt good. Even the press of the other man's fluffy hair against his nose had found a place in his heart somewhere.

All of this was marred, shattered by the disgust he'd seen in Sam's eyes-the revulsion of waking up wrapped in another man's arms for not the first but second time. It was practically sexual harassment, and that just made him _angrier. _

Why did Sam's scars set him off so badly? Why was waking up in _Dean_'s arms (safe) so bad? They'd just started to form some sort of bond, a _friendship_— and he hadn't faked a moment of it, through the jokes and easy banter between the two of them on the ride to Paris. Sam was easy to get along with, amiable where the other cameramen had been stiff and unpleasant; he was brave enough to call Dean on his bullshit, and filming on the ice was a perfect example of it.

And Sam had gotten hurt because he'd refused to listen. He should've never gone through the ice. They shouldn't have been _filming _something so risky without medical backup in the first place.

He kicked what looked like a rock in the snow, swearing as a chunk of ice dug into his toe. The sky was gray above his head, not storming but ominous enough to get the point across; clouds tended to act like they looked. Snow would be coming eventually.

They had enough energy bars to last the next few days. He made a mental tally of their other supplies and sighed for the first time that day. Of course they would have a fight here, in the middle of one of the most dangerous climates in the world.

Dean brooded a little more, making half-hearted attempts to kick the rock he'd seen. He needed to get back up to camp and see if Sam was alive—or if he even wanted to see him at all. The instinct to protect was still thrumming through him, even though he knew it'd be less than welcome to the other man.

Eyeing the treacherous clouds in the distance, he began a slow, steady hike up the hill.

* * *

Sam, unbeknownst to Dean, was brooding in a similar manner, arms crossed as he kicked at snow clumps surrounding their cave. He'd shoved on his shoes only to find them damp as well. Damn it.

He was halfway through what his mother used to call one of his "pouting sessions", frowning hard enough to give himself a headache as he kicked around the shelter. The scars on his back had burned like a brand since Dean had pointed them out.

He'd gotten defensive, obviously—the look in Winchester's eyes mirrored every single one he'd gotten since he managed to walk out of the hospital—pity, with a mix of fear and revulsion thrown in for the hell of it. He'd thought maybe a hardass like the survivalist wouldn't comment on it, but hey. Apparently, the other man was full of surprises.

The second he'd felt Winchester's arms around him it all went to hell. The same relaxed, calming warmth around him almost drew him back into sleep. Secretly, somewhere very deep down, a part of him reveled in waking up with the other man—the huff of his breath on his neck, the muscled body he could feel like a hard line pressed against his back.

The _other _hard line he'd felt against his back…

Sam had wanted, so achingly bad, for ten minutes—ten minutes to wrap himself in Dean and pretend they were something more. The urge had shocked him at first, lancing through his body. Shame followed a second later, tumbling into a disaster of a mess as their argument had erupted.

He would make it clear when (if) Dean came back; it wasn't his fault Sam fell through the ice. He'd make that right, if it were the best he could do. The man had saved his life, devoting an entire night of body heat so Sam could live. He would do this for the other man, because, contrary to what his words had suggested, he didn't blame the survivalist at all.

And he'd push down those _urges,_ lock them away and pray that Winchester wouldn't fire him for simply _wanting_.

* * *

Dean found Sam curled into a ball against their snow shelter, damp coat a small barrier to the wind he could feel whipping around his heels. The cameraman looked years younger burrowed into the hood of the jacket, nose red.

The second he saw Dean the kid leapt to his feet, arms flailing as he struggled to keep balanced on the snow. He barreled over to Dean, who put his hands up, preparing for the worst.

"I'm sorry," Sam looked wrecked, eyes red-rimmed. "I was a dick. I fell into the lake because I wasn't being careful. You saved my life and I was a bitch about it. I am so, so sorry I yelled at you."

"Hey, it's okay." Dean put his arms on the kid's shoulders, steadying him. He felt emotion prick at his own eyes, stupidly enough. "It's fine. I wanted to, uh, apologize too."

Sam's eyes widened spectacularly, a look of shock on his face.

"_You_ didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who-" Dean shushed him. He shook the kid a little, gathering his attention.

"I touched you and invaded your personal space. I asked you something personal you obviously didn't want to talk about. Yeah, you yelled at me, but I was overreaching." Dean took a deep breath around the lump he could feel in his chest. "We both kinda blew it outta the water, didn't we?"

Sam nodded numbly, eyes downcast. "I'm s-sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Dean felt the apology to his bones. "I'm sorry for touching you. It won't happen again."

He thought he saw something spark behind Sam's eyes and paused, but the other man turned away quickly, dropping Dean's hold on his shoulders.

"Let's—let's just get through the rest of this shoot, okay?" Sam nodded towards the snow around them, something they both should've been enjoying and weren't. "You got a plan, survival man?"

Dean smiled weakly at the rhyme. "Depends."

"What?"

"You wanna eat some bugs?"

* * *

**December, 2014. En route to LAX. **

An uneasy truce had formed between them, making the shoot quiet but bearable. Their earlier banter wasn't completely eradicated—Sam mercilessly teased Dean behind the camera throughout the entire termite eating process—but they were both obviously walking on eggshells. The easy friendship that had come out of nowhere on a beach in Hawaii had ebbed away, leaving both of them exhausted at the end of the shoot.

The 'rescue' of the episode was a small fishing boat in a lake down the mountain. They'd traveled through the levels of forest the farther they went down, Dean watching Sam's every move as he struggled slightly with the camera. They were both still a little cold, and the grim weather surrounding them hadn't helped.

Sam didn't miss the way Dean boosted him up onto the ship first, when it really should've been the other way around. The shot he got of Dean climbing up the ladder made up for it, but he sighed. Gabriel would be riding his ass about angles again, and undoubtedly would tease him about the 'relationship' he and Winchester had.

The only time they'd touched throughout the descent didn't even count. One minute he and Dean were three feet apart and suddenly the other man had practically thrown himself on Sam, tackling him to the ground and throwing a hand over his mouth.

_Stay very quiet and don't move,_ he'd hissed at Sam. His whole face had turned white. _Look._

The view through the bushes Dean had pushed them into had been terrifying. Barely fifty yards away a brown bear nosed at some trees, its huge hulking mass enough to make Dean's hold on him welcome—at least one of them knew what they were doing.

The bear had passed, given time, and they resumed their trek downhill on somewhat sturdy legs (Sam). They were both relieved, but the looks Sam caught Dean sending his way made something inside of him curl up.

_He probably didn't want to die protecting me_ He'd felt something whisper at the back of his mind. _You're the only cameraman who's lasted this long and he still thinks you're incapable. Weak. _

Sam wasn't stupid (hopefully) and the voice had been subtly filed into the _angst over this later _bin of his mind. But something about it had dug claws; Dean probably _did_ think he was incapable. Hell, he'd been caught or saved or shoved out of harm's way more times than he could remember in the last few weeks. The fact that the other man thought he had to apologize to Sam made it even more ridiculous; _Sam _was the one who had freaked out. _Sam _was the one who had yelled and been irrational, not Dean.

Sitting on the plane ride home (where Dean kept at least three feet between them at all times) those same thoughts circled through his head again and again. He'd barely managed to salvage the footage from the last three days, and whatever was on the camera was probably crap, through and through. He was _good_ at his job, damn it-that's why he was hired in the first place.

So why was one dip into freezing water and an argument enough to bring that all down?

He couldn't do this—he thought he could, staring those stubborn green eyes down—but he couldn't. He'd flaked out, just like every person before him. The defeat stung. The loss of Dean's friendship stung worse.

Sam sent a quick text to _Novak _in his phone and watched as the mountains faded in the distance.

* * *

**Late December, 2014. Novak's Gym. **

Dean shrugged off the sweaty t-shirt he'd been working out in, throwing it to the floor of the changing room as he pulled on a soft gray hoodie. Changing efficiently, he grabbed his bag and walked out of the smaller room. The door to Castiel's office was twenty feet ahead of him, just beginning to swing open as he began his walk across the main floor of the gym.

He nearly tripped when he saw Sam Wesson's frame duck out of the office, face tilted towards the floor. His shoulders were slumped, head ducked like the kid wanted to be smaller than he was. Dean felt a wave of distant horror pass over him as the cameraman shuffled out the door, booking it a second later to Cas's office.

"Dean," Castiel didn't look up from his paperwork as he all but barged in. He was wearing a slim pair of glasses, making his eyes appear even bluer as he looked something over. "Sit."

Dean, stubborn as he was, complied. The second his ass was in the chair he leaned forward, placing his elbows on Novak's desk.

"Tell me what Wesson was doing here."

Castiel glared at the intrusion on his desk, shifting backwards in his chair. "I wouldn't say you had any business in Sam's visit."

"Damn straight I do! He's _my _cameraman!"

A warning glance from the smaller man sent him back to his chair, but his anger didn't diminish. Castiel shuffled a few papers, ostentatiously placing them at the edge of his desk. It took Dean three seconds to read the header of the cover sheet, face turning white.

"He's…he's quitting?"

"No." Castiel's look soured. He threw the papers in the trash bin next to his desk. "I refused to accept his resignation. He's taking a..._hiatus_, if you will."

The words sunk in slowly. It'd barely been a week and he was already eager to see Sam again-awkwardness be damned. He'd spent the week preparing for their next shoot (scheduled somewhere warm and wet, Ellen had said) so the last few days had been devoted to making himself stronger ( _so Sam can't get hurt again, _a part of him whispered) And now...

"Does he even want to see me?" Dean whispered after a long moment. "Cas, is this my fault?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention away from the carpet.

"Sam is hurting, and so are you." The blue-eyed man said sagely, gaze fixing him to his seat. "But that's not the _point, _Dean. You're both _missing_ the point."

"The touching-"

Castiel sighed, waving a hand to cut him off. "You're not stupid, Dean. I know, you know—it's not about the touching."

"What," the survivalist drew in a shaky breath, refusing to break down further. "Cas-"

"You two are partners, but you've been treating Sam like he's less than that. I know you care about him-" the older man cut himself off, anger plain across his face. "He _doesn't, _Dean. He came in here looking guiltier than you on your worst morning after, thinking it was all his fault. If I didn't know you I would've smacked you myself."

Dean felt a sharp burst of pain at the other man's words. Sam thought he hated him. Sam thought he didn't care.

"It's-it's the opposite." He finally choked out. They'd never spoken about Dean's preferences before, but he refused to be ashamed in front of his mentor. "He thinks it's-it's one sided?" At Castiel's nod he took a shuddering breath. "It's not. It's definitely not."

Castiel nodded again, turning a polite eye to the tears forming in Dean's eyes. He didn't need to say anything more. The other man just knew. "So fix it."

Impossible. "_How_?"

The older man grabbed a post-it note and scribbled furiously, handing it to Dean a second later. He blinked at the bright yellow piece of paper.

"What's this?"

"Sam's address." Castiel stood up, his height seeming to grow as he gathered himself. "Now get the hell out of my office, and fix this."

Dean didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

A/N Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought! The next chapter will be titled "Home", and I hope to have it up by Friday:) Got anywhere you want Sam and Dean to go next?


	8. Home

A/N So, the chapter we've all been waiting for! Sorry it's so long. If you're reading with the K+ rating, you might want to skip the first 2,000 words.:)

Thanks to my beta, Friend of the Nordic God, and everyone who's reading. Thank you. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**December, 2014. LA. Sam's House. **

Sam opened his eyes to the sound of furious pounding on his front door, groaning as the noise level increased. He uncurled from his position on his bed and threw a pillow across his head, praying whoever it was would go away.

"_Sam_!" a familiar voice shouted. "_Sam_, _open_ _up_! _I know_ _you're_ _in_ _there_."

"Go'way!" he mumbled from under the pillow, pushing his head into the cool cloth. Couldn't he just have half an hour of rest? Was that too much to ask for? He was taking a fucking _break_, for God's sake.

The pounding only grew in fervor, until Sam was beginning to worry about the safety of his door. The whole floor had probably heard his mystery visitor by now. He bet money Mrs. Evans was already alerting the police, the paranoid neighbor she was.

"_I'll break down this door, damn it_!"

Sam sighed and pushed the pillow off his face. Whatever this was, he'd just have to deal with it. Doors were freaking expensive.

"_Sam_!" Wait. He knew that voice—but. No. It couldn't be.

The cameraman threw himself out of bed, stumbling a little as gravity caught up with him. The sweatpants he was wearing didn't exactly help, the too-long cuffs tugging at his ankles as he shuffled towards the door. He threw it open none too gently.

"Yes?"

Dean Winchester stood in front of him, hand raised to continue pounding on his door. His face was flushed from the exertion, and he looked less put-together than Sam at the moment, which was saying something.

"Sam." The survivalist straightened, coughing self-consciously. "I, uh…Hello."

Sam refused to be charmed by the other man's flustered appearance. "What do you want?"

The other man looked hopefully into Sam's apartment. "Can I come in?"

"Fine." The cameraman held the door open, looking down the hallway before following. He bit off a groan as he saw the dents in his door. Suspiciously _fist-sized_ dents. "You're buying me a new door, too."

"Sorry." Winchester looked genuinely guilty, head tilted towards Sam's hardwood floors. The act didn't fool him, though-he didn't miss the way the survivalist scanned every exit in the small apartment, carefully cataloging everything.

Sam grabbed his hoodie from one of the chairs, throwing it on over his pajamas as he settled onto the couch. He crossed his arms, glaring at Winchester until he the other man took a seat. "So. Why are you here?"

"Sam, I…"

He raised an eyebrow. "Spit it out."

"You're an idiot."

Well, then. "Excuse me? I invite you into my _house_, you break my _door_, and now you're _insulting_ me?"

"No—I mean-God, this is all going so wrong-" Winchester put his head in his hands, fingers dragging over the spiky tips as he ran his hand through his hair. "That's not what I _meant_. I mean you're an idiot for trying to quit."

That chilled the anger. Sam crossed his arms tighter across his chest. "It's my decision."

"Yeah, it is, but it's a stupid decision!" Dean leapt to his feet, pacing in front of the cameraman. "You told Cas you were quitting because of me!"

"Oh, so you're allowed to call me an idiot, but I'm not allowed to call you stupid?!"

The survivalist glared at him, jaw flexing. "You. Are so. _Annoying_. You think this is all about _you_!"

"Since when do you even _care_?" Sam growled, finally getting to his feet. "Obviously it didn't work out! Tough luck, guess you'll just have to find _another_ cameraman! Oh wait." Sam paused, tilting his head. "There are none left. Because you keep _pissing them off_!"

"I did stuff, yeah, but I apologized." Dean was barely a foot from him, their chests bumping as Sam leaned forward. "You're the one backing down, Wesson."

Sam's vision flared red. He shoved the other man. "I apologized! You're the problem here! You're nice one second and then you're a robot! Am I disgusting? Because you act like it!" He pushed again, throwing the survivalist back a few feet. "I don't get it. I _don't_! Apparently, I'm not worth your time, _Winchester_!"

Suddenly he was flying backwards, air whistling through his ears before he slammed into the foyer wall. The impact sent stars through his vision, blurring his eyesight.

Dean Winchester's face was inches from him when he could see again, expression mottled with anger.

"Don't you _ever_, ever let me hear you say that again." He growled, hands gripping Sam's hoodie. Deja vu brought him back to the beach on Hawaii for a second, their faces inches apart-

"Back to orders again, huh?" Sam breathed out, attempting to be irritating and failing as Winchester's face loomed closer.

"You don't _listen_."

The cameraman squirmed in the hold, only to have his wrists bracketed by Winchester's hands, pinning him to the wall. He refused to let out a noise as his arms were stretched high above his head, choosing instead to glare like hell at the presumptuous survivalist.

"Oh, so can touch me when you're angry." Sam knew he was being unfair, but damn it. Damn it all. He twisted out of the restraint, only to be rebuffed when the survivalist grabbed hold of his hoodie. He put his hands over where the survivalists' were fisted in the fabric, shoving forward. "You know what, screw y-"

Before Sam could finish the sentence he lost track of everything, shocked as lips covered his in a demanding kiss. He barely had time to open his mouth before the other man was shoving in, sliding and licking and so goddamned _good. _He groaned, hands moving to the other man's hair as fire shot down his spine. _What?_

Sam felt rather than saw the survivalist move them, calloused hands shoving their way up Sam's flannel shirt and spanning his waist, lifting him off the ground a second later in an impressive display of strength. They made out furiously, both trying to dominate for what felt like hours and hours of contact.

"Bed." Dean growled a forever later, but there was a hint of a question in his eyes when their gazes connected. Sam couldn't do more than nod, gesturing towards his room. The other man practically carried them there, head bent as he trailed kisses up Sam's neck.

He gasped as he was thrown onto the bed, bouncing up once as his mattress bucked underneath him. Dean was a beat behind, taking his shirt off as he clambered onto the bed.

The moment seemed to catch between them as Sam realized what was happening.

Dean Winchester was naked. On his bed. Because he wanted to have sex. With Sam. (Unless that wasn't what they were getting naked for.)

The other man didn't miss his hesitation, fingers stalling where they'd been tugging at Sam's belt.

"You okay?" Dean asked, moving down so Sam could see his face. "Cause we can-"

"God, no," Sam breathed out, grabbing Winchester's neck and hauling him down. "I—want this. Have for a long time."

"Me too." The other man's teeth glinted in the darkness. Sam gasped as hands pushed his jeans down, sending shockwaves of pleasure across his entire body. Not to be outdone, he latched onto Dean's neck, returning the favor as he undid the survivalist's jeans.

He let out a happy groan at what he saw there, mentally cataloging how much lube was in the nightstand drawer. Dean, forever prepared, was already perusing the nightstand one-handed, stroking Sam with the other.

"I love how you already assume which way this is gonna go." Sam said snarkily from the bed, earning himself a particularly adept twist of the wrist from the survivalist, who triumphantly displayed the tube he'd found.

"Oh, were you?" The cameraman could see the slight, teasing hurt in the other man's eyes. "I could just leave you here."

"You wouldn't _dare_." Sam glared at him, snatching the bottle of lube from the survivalist. He gave it back once the teasing glint in the other man's eyes disappeared, leaning back onto the pillows as Dean bent between his legs.

"Oh, so you're just gonna lie back and make me do all the work?"

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, punching Dean in the shoulder none too lightly. "Dude, if we can't even stop arguing for sex, this isn't gonna work." He grabbed the other man's head in his hands, kissing him fiercely until the other man melted into him.

A moment later they were back on track, and a few gentle ministrations after that Sam was _exactly _where he wanted to be.

"Unh," He groaned as the bed rocked beneath him, wrapping his legs around Dean's back. He felt the sweat pooling there and grinned around another moan, running his hands through the survivalist's sweaty hair.

"Getting a good w-workout there, old man?"

Dean's glare would've killed him had it connected, but his face was tucked into Sam's neck, peppering kisses there. "I can't believe you just called me that."

"Must not be doing it right," Sam teased, but he barely had enough focus to maintain the sarcastic tone. Dean grunted, increasing his thrusts until Sam literally saw stars. Maybe that was the lingering head injury.

"That good enough for you?"

Sam opened his mouth only to groan, argument slipping away. Oh he was so gone. "Unh." He said again. _Eloquent_.

Suddenly the angle changed. Dean lifted his legs up higher, pounding against a spot inside of him that truly made him see stars this time. His hands scrabbled loosely across the other man's back, unable to vocalize what he was feeling as he met every thrust. He was an inch from the edge, hands curling in the other man's hair, gripping tightly as his eyes flew open, locking with Dean's.

"You wanted me," the other man groaned, slowing his thrusts until he was barely moving inside Sam, pulling that sweet moment out. Sweat shined on his face, dilated pupils leaving only a ring of vivid green behind. "You wanted me to fuck you like this."

"Yes." Sam was halfway between blissed-out and enraged. He would've hit Dean if he could move. "I did. You fucking cocky bastard."

"I thought you wanted my cock?" The other man wasn't holding out much longer, though, speeding up as they both panted.

"Shut u-up."

"I wanted you too," the other man growled, forcing Sam to look into his eyes. "I wanted you too, Sammy. From the very start."

Sam only gripped his legs tighter, crying out as everything went white with pleasure. He absently felt Dean spill into him with a drawn-out groan a second later, still riding the edges of an amazing orgasm.

Sam collapsed, feeling Dean slip out and curl exhaustedly around him. He welcomed the warmth for the first time, settling back into the wall of muscle behind him. The survivalist wielded a t-shirt to clean up most of the mess before curling back around the cameraman.

"So…" Dean said breathlessly, sounding awed. Sam smirked, secretly proud of what he'd reduced the other man to in just ten minutes. His smugness faded after a few seconds, however, and he rolled over to face the survivalist.

"You really meant all of that?" God they were close, he'd forgotten what sharing a bed was like. "About wanting me? You weren't just making that up?"

"No," Dean said softly, gently tucking a lock of Sam's hair behind his ear. "Sammy, you were special the moment I first saw you."

Sam made a face at the gooey tone. "You're just saying that."

"I'm not." Dean pushed himself up onto his elbows, eyes never leaving Sam. "Why do you think I pushed you so hard the first day?"

So that's what that was about. "So you don't actually hate me?"

"_No_." The survivalist protested earnestly. "I've been trying to tell you that this entire time. All the, I don't know, _flusteredness_,was me trying not to get myself sued for sexual harassment."

Sam let a small smile slip forward as the other man began to rub circles into his lower back, slipping past Sam's considerable (read: nonexistent) defenses and tracing up the scars on his back. He yawned, ducking his head. "Shoulda told me earlier."

"You didn't make it easy," The survivalist continued stroking circles up his back, moving his hands to Sam's hair, carding gently through. He didn't bring up the disfigured skin, which Sam was grateful for. "I thought you hated me."

"Funny, I thought the same thing."

"Shut up." Dean smacked him lightly on the ass. "I don't see you complaining about the end result."

Sam nodded, turning to lie on his back and stretching out like a cat. He smirked a little as the other man's eyes dilated and wondered if round two was in the future. Mhm, maybe round th—

A phone ringing interrupted that pleasant thought, making Dean jump from his position behind Sam. He laughed at the startled man, dipping a hand into his nightstand as "_I Like Candy_" blared from his phone.

"Gabriel's ringtone," He said to a confused-looking Dean. "Hello?"

"Sa_amm_!" Gabriel's voice whined even through the small cellphone speaker. "You alive, man?"

"What do you want? I'm busy." He frowned as a heavy base blared in the background, shrugging at Dean. Of course their afterglow would be interrupted.

"_Busy _busy, or 'just got fucked' busy?" Sam's eyes widened as the other man cackled. "Cause I know it's not the first one, seeing as I'm your boss. Come down to Rock Bottom's. Me n' Cassy here wanna get wasted. Bring Dean."

"Wasted?" Sam sighed and looked at the clock. It was almost ten. "Why are we getting wasted on a weekday?"

"To _celebrate_!" Gabriel cawed, somehow louder than the pounding music. "You, sir, have finally lost the stick up your ass. Or was it Dean? I forgot to ask which one of you-"

"_Stop_." Sam resisted the urge to blush. Fine. Anything to get the other man to stop talking. "Rock Bottom, you said?"

"Be there, or be square, Sammy!" He heard delighted laughter as the sound of glasses being set down echoed in the phone. "Ten thirty, kay? And bring survivor man!"

Sam blinked as the call cut off, flipping his phone shut. Dean stared at him.

"Wasted?"

He shrugged. "That's what he said. Some sort of party with someone named _Cassy_."

"Cas." Dean explained, putting his head in his hands as Sam laughed. "Does this mean they're hooking up now?"

"We'll just have to see," Sam shrugged out of the other man's hold on his waist, eyeing his naked body. "Much as I hate to say it, we need to put clothes on."

Dean's eyes crinkled as he smiled, following Sam's gaze. "Sure you don't wanna skip out?"

"I'm afraid of the two of them getting drunk together, honestly." Sam shuddered mentally, reaching for his discarded clothes. Dean did the same. "Besides, they wanna see you."

"Me?"

"Apparently it's a celebration...since we, you know, got together."

Dean shrugged his shirt on, covering up. He politely stared elsewhere as Sam put on his clothing, as if they hadn't just been fucking with nothing on but their birthday suits.

"Ready to go?" Sam asked a moment later. Dean ran a hand through his hair then nodded, grinning slightly. Sam would've smacked him for the smug look he gave him, but he was smiling too. He was gonna smile straight into next week. That same smile widened as the survivalist stuck a hand in the back of Sam's jeans, squeezing once.

"Let's get hammered."

* * *

**December, 2014. LA. Rock Bottom. **

Rock Bottom was a busy-looking bar in the industrial sector, residing in an old beer warehouse. The pumping music was loud enough to be heard a few blocks away, thudding through Dean's car. (Which was very, very awesome.)

Dean had preened under the compliments Sam had layered into their conversation on the way to the bar. The '67 had been a gift from his dad, he'd explained. A black Chevy Impala, hard to find (and to park) in LA, but definitely worth it. Sam had found himself salivating a little glancing at the wide backseat. It was truly a beautiful car.

They parked in one of the last open spots and made their way into the bar. Sam craned his neck over the dancing masses, spying Gabriel in a semi-secluded booth towards the back. He tapped Dean on the shoulder and pointed, starting over.

"Sammich!" Gabriel cried when he saw them, more than halfway drunk as he stumbled to a standing position. "Y'all made it!"

Sam smirked at the shorter man. "Hey, Gabe."

"Dean," the drunken man squinted, pointing at the survivalist. "No funny business with m'boy, kay?"

The blonde man ignored him, moving towards the booth. Castiel Novak was seated at the seat behind Gabriel, staring forlornly at a mostly-full beer. The second he saw Sam and Dean he also stood, face brightening.

Dean reached forward and clapped him on the shoulder, sharing a small moment. They didn't speak, but Castiel nodded after a moment.

"Glad to see it all worked out," The blue-eyed man said, nodding at Sam. "I believe Gabriel wishes to celebrate. It is good you are here."

"Because _someone _doesn't wanna drink!" Gabriel pushed his way into the booth, shoving Sam against Dean, who didn't mind a bit. "I put a beer in front of him three hours ago and he hasn't even _touched _it!"

"You ever consider asking him if he wanted something else?" Sam questioned, staring at the crappy light beer. "No one drinks Coors anymore, Gabe."

Dean smothered a laugh into Sam's shoulder as the shorter man pouted. Sam took pity on the blue-eyed man and spoke.

"Well, Cas, what do you want to drink?"

The older man frowned. "I believe I enjoy rum."

"You 'believe'?"

"Shut up, Gabe." Sam and Dean chorused. Castiel stared at them in shock, before breaking into a grin. Sam blushed when he saw, taking the opportunity to dig into his wallet and throw some cash at Gabe.

"Go get him some alcohol. Or are we not drinking anymore?"

Gabriel stood, triumphantly brandishing the cash. "I shall retrieve said grown up beverages! Anything for the lovers?"

"Tequila," Dean said, throwing an arm around Sam, who raised an eyebrow. "What? I wanna celebrate."

Gabe disappeared with a wink. Sam shook his head, grinning at his—what? Boyfriend? Lover?

"You know he's gonna make you do shots."

Dean cracked his knuckles. "I've got him."

"He's a tough little fucker." Sam warned. He grabbed Castiel's beer, taking a quick sip as the man sent him a grateful look. Eh. Better than tequila shooters.

"He's halfway sloshed already."

"Who says _sloshed_?"

"Children," Castiel interrupted, hands spread across the table in mock-authoritative style. "I believe Gabriel already wished to challenge Dean in a drinking competition. In order to protect Sam's dignity."

Sam choked on Castiel's beer. "_What_?"

"Oh, he is so on." Dean looked positively devious in the low light. "I'm gonna drink him under the table."

Gabriel's return was heralded by a mock-offended gasp. "Was that a _short_ joke, Winchester?" He carefully set a shot of rum in front of Castiel, throwing a bottle of tequila and some shot glasses in front of Dean.

"Ready to have some real fun?"

Dean rubbed his hands together, grabbing the first glass. Sam just groaned.

* * *

**December, 2014. LA. Sam's house. **

Sam helped a giggling Dean through the door, grunting as the survivalist nearly tripped, pulling on Sam's sweater to keep himself upright. He locked the door behind him one-handed, keeping a handsy survivalist from pawing at his jeans.

"That was fun, Sammyy," Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's neck, laying sloppy kisses on his neck. "I totally won…right, babe?"

"Oh yeah," Sam agreed, patiently leading Dean to the bedroom. He looked at the clock and almost fainted. It was nearly four in the morning. He barely noticed the hand creeping down his pants.

"Stop it," He smacked the offending limb, earning himself a pout from the drunken man. "Dean, you're drunk."

"Doesn't mean we can't have sex." The survivalist whined. "I—I _won_ your honor. Right? S'what I did. Beat Gabe."

"Yeah, you did honey." Sam pushed Dean onto the bed, smirking as the other man toppled onto it without much protest. "Time to go night night."

"I wanna snuggle." Dean said as Sam went to the bathroom, returning with three advil and a glass of water for tomorrow morning. "C'mon, S'mmy."

"You're adorable." Sam set the glass and medicine down on the bedside table. He quickly shucked his jeans, tucking himself into Dean's side. The survivalist curled his arms around him, cold nose tucking into his neck. Just when he thought he'd drifted off, Dean spoke.

"S'mmy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about the last few weeks."

He rubbed soothing circles into Dean's back, like the other man had done for him before. "I know, Dean. It's okay."

"_Sammy_."

Sam rolled his eyes. "What?"

"I love you."

Sam grinned stupidly, shaking his head. Dean being drunk had its silly benefits.

"I know, Dean."

The other man seemed childishly appeased, nodding to himself. He rolled over, head flopping onto the pillow as he fell instantly asleep. Sam's mouth hurt, he was smiling so hard. He pressed his lips to Dean's ear.

"I love you too."

With that, he too fell asleep.

* * *

A/N Leave me a review and let me know what you thought! The next chapter will be the Guatemalan Jungle, with some of your requests to follow!:)


	9. Home (Part Two)

A/N Oh sweet Chuck this is a long chapter. I know, I know, this was supposed to be the start of Guatemala (and technically still is) but my plot bunny got away from me. Rest assured, Guatemala will be cleared up by Friday (and I am so very excited)

Thanks to the usual suspects, and everyone who's reading. I hope you enjoy:)

* * *

**December, 2014. Sam's House. **

Sam woke slowly, pushing his head further into the pillow as the bed vibrated next to him. Strangely enough, it seemed to be moving, shifting with the push and pull of someone…snoring?

He rolled over, searching for the origin of the sounds, blind in the morning light. It was the second time in 24 hours he'd been woken up by loud noises, and no, he apparently wasn't going to get a break.

The initial irritation softened as his eyed finally made out the slumped form in bed next to him, curled halfway onto Sam's pillow. Dean Winchester was currently snoring his heart out in Sam's bed, hand slung across the mattress like he was reaching for the cameraman.

Sam bit down on a manic grin as he curled back into the other man, heart speeding up with happiness like it wasn't five in the morning and he wanted to sleep.

Dean Winchester was in his bed because they weren't fighting anymore. They could finally snuggle in peace.

Sam breathed out, treasuring the sounds he could hear coming from the other man. He snored like a truck, and God was it adorable. Apparently, even the mighty Dean Winchester could not escape the adverse effects of alcohol.

That thought sent him into a bout of laughter, snickering quietly into his palm as his whole body trembled. Dean snuffled a little in his sleep, stirring at the disturbance as Sam desperately tried to stop making noise.

"Hnng?" Dean rolled over, blinking. Almost instinctively his hand went to Sam's hair, carding through it even as the man's eyes were half-shut. "Babe, why…Oh, God."

Sam absolutely did not panic. "What?"

"My _head_." The survivalist pushed his face into the sheets, moaning. "How much did I drink last night?"

Sam shrugged. "Lost count after Gabriel passed out."

"Wait. _What?_"

The cameraman barely restrained himself from laughing as Dean's eyes widened, grabbing the water and pills he'd set out the night before. He pushed them into Dean's limp hand, curling the fingers around the tablets so they wouldn't fall out.

"Thanks," the survivalist said, rolling over with a hand outstretched for the water. Sam grinned and held it to the other man's lips, leaning forward onto the man's lap so it wouldn't spill. "Jesus."

"What?"

The other man's face was scrunched up. It was almost cute. "I'm trying to remember how much sex we had last night."

"Considering your jeans are still on, probably not a lot." Sam outright laughed as Dean glanced down at his pants, a mournful look on his face.

"I remember before that, though." The survivalist leaned back onto the pillows, staring at Sam. Even hungover he managed a decent leer. "You and me, we're good?"

Sam felt his cheeks redden, recalling. "Oh yeah. We're good."

Dean's smile was blinding. His hand latched onto Sam's, pulling him into a surprisingly comfortable hug. Sam breathed out at the smell of Dean's hair, pressing his face into the other man's neck with a sigh of content. Sam was just about to kiss the other man when the survivalist's stomach growled loudly, belying the green tint his face took on a second later.

"Hungry?"

Dean squirmed on the bed. "Maybe."

"I'm sure I've got some grease lying around here for you." Sam smiled as the other man visibly gagged. "Maybe there's a few cans of it out back—you know, still a little runny in the middle-"

"Shut up, shut up!" Dean cowered on the bed, pushing Sam away. "Oh God. You made your point, bitch."

"Jerk." Sam took pity on the other man and scooched so they were pressed even closer together on the bed, head lying on the other man's chest. "In all seriousness, though. I don't have a lot of food here."

"We can go out, and you can explain why I've got the mother of all hangovers." Dean's hungover voice was actually kinda sexy, rumbling where Sam was pressed against his chest. "Know anywhere nearby?"

"There's a good brunch place around the corner," Sam said. "Serves really fresh food."

"Awesome, I'm in." Dean made to get off the bed, struggling a little bit before Sam put a hand on his back. "You know, usually this is the other way around."

"Huh?"

The survivalist waved his hands at Sam. "You, me. The morning after. I'm not usually so…"

"Hungover?"

"_Pliant._"

Sam shrugged. "You were smashed last night. Where was I supposed to let you go? Besides, drunk you was adorable. Grabby, too."

The survivalist _blushed_, grabbing Sam's hoodie without permission and throwing it on. Sam blinked, unsure what to think about that. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Sam grabbed his keys as they headed towards the door, making sure his wallet was still in his jeans. Dean pursed his lips, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"We fought a lot yesterday, and I don't think I said it to you then." He looked up at Sam, like he was double-checking he was still there. Sam's heart leapt at the genuine want he saw in the other man's eyes. "I'm glad we're good, you know? I'm…happy."

They took the stairs down, the cameraman carefully watching so the other man wouldn't fall. (Not that he would, this was _Dean Winchester _they were talking about)

"Happy I can handle." Sam smiled at the other man, hopeful. So their sexy times last night had not been forgotten. He looped an arm into Dean's once they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Let's go get food."

"Aw, shit, I forgot my wallet in your apartment." Dean walked a few steps up, nearly slamming into Sam, who shook his head at the shorter man.

"I got it. You can pay next time."

"Next time?" A genuine smile curved the survivalist's lips. "I like the sound of that, Sammy boy."

And so they unofficially became official.

* * *

**December, 2014. Bella Rosa Cafe. **

The café Sam directed them to was quite literally just around the corner, a quaint restaurant tucked into the dozens of apartment buildings and warehouses in the small neighborhood. The décor of _Bella Rosa _was a bright, cheerful green, displaying daisies and shelves of books in the front lobby.

"One of my favorite places," Sam mentioned when the waitress was walking them to their seats, hand still clutching Dean's. They sat outside, finding a small, semi-secluded bench on the front porch. Even for December in LA it was warm. Dean laughed as the cameraman sat down in front of him, already eyeing the stack of books to their left. All traces of his hangover disappeared at the shining smile Sam gave at a dog-eared copy of _The Help_.

"I like it," Dean's stomach grumbled again, interrupting the moment. "Anything good on the menu?"

He didn't miss the way Sam grabbed his menu, letting their hands slide together as he passed the laminated paper across the table. He let his foot kick out under the table, hooking around Sam's ankle. The cameraman blushed, lifting his head to meet Dean's gaze.

"Yeah, there's uh—a great omelet, but that's only if you want—I-" Dean only grinned wider as his foot ran up the other man's leg, teasing. "I'm sure you'll find s-something you like."

It felt like paradise. He'd been to hundreds of islands and beaches, and nothing came close to this moment, sitting in a dinky café with a blushing Sam. Hell, even his headache had disappeared, whether that was because of the pills, Sam, or some combination of the two. He barely noticed when the waitress passed by to get their orders, settling on a short stack with bacon without taking his eyes off the other man, which amused the waitress to no end.

They ate breakfast slowly, savoring the shade of the morning sun. His leg remained hooked around Sam's, much to the embarrassment of the other man. Dean shifted his leg throughout the meal, watching the telltale blush creep up the cameraman's neck. Oh yeah. That was something to play with later.

Apparently he'd drunken Gabriel under the table last night with tequila shots, something he hadn't done since college. Sam and Castiel had stayed sober, laughing at their drunken asses. In a weird way, Dean happy that they'd gotten along so easily—he himself had needed alcohol to tolerate Gabe. Sam reminisced with none too little amusement, but the happiness Dean saw in the other man's eyes made it funny for both of them (especially since he couldn't remember much).

When the meal was done they settled on coffee, Dean drinking his black while Sam dumped a shit ton of sugar and cream into his weak looking mocha. They chatted about the next episode briefly, and, to Dean's surprise, there was nothing cuter than Sam's enthusiasm. Which was good, considering they were leaving in a few hours—Ellen had sent him the confirmation email early that morning, once he'd bothered to check his phone.

"Wait. _Guatemala? _Today_?_"

Dean huffed a laugh around his mouthful of coffee. "Yeah. Ellen said warm and wet, after all. Our flight leaves in a few hours." _If you still want to go…_

"You have _no clue _how awesome that place is," Sam said, eyes alight with nerdy excitement. "It's the freaking cultural _centerpiece_ of Central America. They have ancient ruins, and jungles, and-"

"Slow down there, cowboy." Dean hid a smirk, eyeing the booth a few feet from them. Sam's outburst hadn't gone unnoticed. "When did you turn into nerd wonder?"

Apparently Sam's hiatus (Cas' words, not his) had come to a close (if it had even existed at all, the sneaky bastard).

"Oh, so you don't research the place you survive in before you drop into it?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "I always research my drop zones."

"So you have to know what we're doing," Sam leaned across the tables, for all purposed an overeager puppy. "_Please _tell me we're visiting one of the temples. _Please_."

Dean raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm just the lowly servant. I survive as I am told."

"_Deaan_."

He grinned at the other man's whining tone, grabbing his chin. Sam was too adorable. "C'mere."

They kissed laughingly over the hardwood table, Dean tucking his fingers into the feather-soft curls at the nape of Sam's neck. He ignored the startled gasps he heard behind them, pushing the cameraman lower into their booth. A small flash went off, but it didn't faze him. It was private for a reason. If the other customers didn't like it, suck it.

Sam made a muffled noise of protest when Dean's hand began undoing his jeans under the table, swatting his hand away. He pulled them apart a second later, face flushed.

"Not in public," the cameraman breathed, hair disheveled. Dean was pretty sure he was developing a fascination (read: _kink_) with it. "Dean, we're gonna get caught."

"But _Saaaam_." The other man ignored him, waving for the bill hurriedly. His leg brushed against Dean's under the table, though, and a second later he caught on.

The waitress brought them their check with a smug smile, patting Dean on the shoulder as she left. Sam threw a couple twenties down and stood up, Dean latching onto his arm a second later.

This was it; the highlife. He had Sam's hand tucked firmly into his, the other man sending him hooded glances every second their gazes connected. There was heat between them. A lot of heat. How did they miss out on this for so long, yelling at each other and arguing? He smiled even wider, leading them to the front of the restaurant.

Dean had just pushed the front door open when a blinding flash sent him careening back into Sam, shielding his eyes.

_"Dean, is it true you're dating your cameraman?"_

A cacophony of voices thundered around them, paired with bright, invasive flashes. Realization sunk straight into his gut as they were mobbed by cameras and microphones, getting pushed back into the restaurant's door. Dean instantly covered Sam's face, tucking it into his shoulder as he pulled up the hood on Sam's hoodie. God, he knew what this looked like.

_"Sam, Dean, what's it like being the newest gay couple on tv?"_

"No comment!" Dean yelled back, pushing Sam towards the corner. He snarled as Sam let out a muffle whimper, holding his ribs where a camera had jabbed him. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here."

The other man's face was pale, eyes wide in the camera's flashes. He looked scared and innocent. "We can't go back to my apartment. They'll find us."

_"Hey, Sam! Dean! Smile for the camera! C'mon!"_

"Fuck off!" Dean yelled, pushing the obscenely large piece of equipment out of his face. The survivalist continued to block Sam from most of the shots, putting his body between the cameras and Sam as much as possible. The paps were insistent, though, and he knew things were about to get rough.

How had they found them? Dean almost smacked himself as the answer made itself known. _Of course._ The gasps behind them at the café. The small flash he'd seen out of the corner of his eye. Someone had alerted the media, and caused this _mess_.

_"Dean Winchester, what do you have to say about all the accidents on set?" _One balding reporter asked, shoving a microphone into his face. Dean pushed it back, only to have it thrown back in his space. _ "Have they settled down now that you and your cameraman are together?"_

"No comment!" He growled again, struggling to push them through the crowd. Where were they supposed to go? Sam looked ill as they gazed at the crowd of people surrounding them, and anything that hurt Sam meant asskicking was in the future, damn it.

That, of course, was when things got worse.

_"Sam, what's it like moving on?" _A pushy reporter in a red dress shoved herself into Sam's face. The second the question was said Dean could see the color drain from the cameraman's face._ "Is Dean here a fresh start?"_

Sam stopped in the middle of the crowd, face freezing up. Dean's heart sped up as the other man swayed, putting a cautionary hand at the taller man's waist. He tried to push them but the other man was frozen.

"How—_how _did they find that?" Sam whispered, turning slowly to look at him. His face was ashen. "Dean, how did they know about that?"

The reporter seemed to notice she'd struck a chord, smiling wolfishly.

_"Sam, Sam." _She slid the microphone in front of him._ "Do you blame yourself for Jessica's death?"_

Dean saw Sam's eyes begin to tear up. Shit was about to go flying.

"All right, that's fucking _enough_!"

He shoved the arrogant reporter out of their way, grabbing Sam's limp hand and dragging him through the crowd. He wasn't afraid to stomp on a few feet, kicking a few shins until finally the crowd parted.

The two of them practically ran down the sidewalk, Dean directing a stumbling Sam through alleys and back entrances to stores until they'd put enough distance between them and the media. They came to a stop inside of a dimly lit hippy store, clouds of incense wafting around the rooms.

The shop owner's face brightened with recognition, but with a glare from Dean she kept quiet. The door closed a second later, and the gray-haired woman quickly turned over the "open" sign, nodding at Dean. He gently led Sam into an engraved chair towards the back, sitting him down between the fluffy pillows and scarves heaped on top of it.

"Could I get some water?" Dean asked the shop owner, barely turning his head for fear of losing sight of Sam. He heard tentative footsteps behind him. "Please?"

The woman nodded and hurried off, noise appearing from behind a floor length curtain a moment later. Dean turned his attention to the near-catatonic cameraman he had in front of him.

"Sam?" He wanted to run a hand through the other man's hair, but decided against it. "You with me buddy?"

The cameraman was dazed, hazel eyes glassy. He didn't look at Dean, staring blankly at the floor.

"Sam? Hey?" The woman returned, footsteps echoing behind Dean. He put his hand out, grabbing the proffered water. "Please talk to me."

Sam's head shook slowly, hair obscuring his eyes as he curled into himself on the chair. His breaths seemed hurried, chest rising and falling too quickly to be safe. He was on the verge of some sort of panic attack, that much Dean knew.

On impulse he reached out and grabbed Sam's face, cradling it between his hands. He tilted Sam's chin upwards, until he was staring straight at Dean.

"Hey. You're okay. You're okay. Everything's okay. Nothing's wrong. You're safe."

He kept babbling the same words, stroking circles into Sam's temples until the other man's breathing slowed. Dean let out an innate sigh as the cameraman's limbs uncurled, head falling onto his shoulder. He rubbed Sam's back slowly, feeling him breathe in and out against his neck.

"You okay?" he asked softly, more than a few minutes later. "Sammy?"

Sam nodded, exhausted. Dean felt hot tears against his skin as the other man pressed his face further into his shoulder, eyes clenched shut. Dean remained where he was, crouched in front of the chair.

The shop owner looked overly sympathetic from where she was standing a few feet away, holding a shawl out to Dean. He mouthed a _thank you_ to her and wrapped it around Sam's shaking shoulders, still running his hand down the other man's back.

"Dean," Sam croaked after a long, quiet moment. His eyes widened, seeming to realize where he was. He sat up from Dean's arms, eyes red-rimmed. "I—so-"

"Shhhh." Dean smiled gently. "It's all okay. You're good."

Sam choked on a laugh, startlingly loud. "I just ruined the whole morning."

"No, those asshole paparazzi did." Dean offered the glass of water again. "Here. Drink."

The cameraman complied, shrugging off the shawl a second later. He ran a hand through his hair, obviously trying to pull himself together.

"So. Uh. Where did we leave off?" Sam's bullshit tone was fooling no one. "Oh yeah—sex. Umm, so my place?"

"Sit your butt down." Dean tapped his chest, pointing at the chair. "You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

Sam's face was tight. "It's fine."

"No, obviously it isn't, because you just had a panic attack in some hippy store!" He sent an apologetic glance at the shop owner. "You scared the hell out of me, man. You were somewhere else."

The cameraman had the decency to look guilty. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault in the first place!" Dean tried to reign in his anger, breathing deep. "Look. I just—I want you to be safe, okay? You really scared me there. They said one thing to set you off-"

Sam's face darkened. "It's none of your business."

"—and I'm telling you that I _respect_ that." Dean said emphatically. "You'll tell me when you're ready. I just don't want you to get hurt, Sammy. I don't."

He reached out an awkward hand, landing on Sam's shoulder. The other man crumbled, grabbing him in a tight hug. Dean smiled even as the breath was crushed out of him, hugging back just as tight.

"Let's go home, okay?" Dean murmured into the other man's hair. Sam nodded, grabbing onto his waist as he stood up. He waved at the store owner, making a mental note to come back and sign a couple autographs later. "Thank you."

She nodded, eyes fixed worriedly on Sam's back. With a sigh, Dean put his hood back up, checked both ways, and walked them out of the store.

* * *

**December, 2014. Castiel's Apartment. **

Castiel groaned as his cell phone blared to life, slamming a hand across the nightstand in an effort to get the noise to stop. His fingers grazed the phone, sending it careening to the floor. A snicker sounded from across the room, before someone handed him the phone.

"Yes?" he asked blearily, sitting up. "You're-"

He listened as Dean spoke, nodding along with the other man's words. "But are—okay. How'd they find out?"

Gabriel sat closer to him on the bed, leaning in to catch the survivalist's words. His face turned white as he heard what Dean said next.

"You're kidding me," He shook Castiel's shoulder. "Tell me he's okay."

"He's okay," Castiel murmured, waving him off. He wrote down what Dean said on the notepad he always kept next to the bed. "Uh huh. You have three or four hours."

"Three hours until what?" Gabriel hissed. "Guatemala?"

Castiel said a few parting words and hung up, holding the piece of paper out to the other man. "Dean will stay with Sam until they leave for their flight. There's a few things we need to grab."

"But he's okay?" Gabriel stressed. "God, I'm gonna go beat those paparazzi assholes up, I swear-"

Castiel sighed at the other man. "I believe that is what Dean wants as well, but he is wise enough not to try. Sam will be okay, I think, in time. I hate to say it, but a trip would be good for them."

"Without injuries or natural disasters." Gabriel added, face conflicted. "God, just when things got good for them."

Castiel slid off the bed, grabbing his shirt from the floor. "Come. We have to go."

Gabriel nodded, the most serious Castiel had ever seen him. They left Castiel's apartment without a second glance.

* * *

**December, 2014. LAX. **

They met the two men at the airport, Castiel tugging Dean's bags behind him as Gabriel earnestly searched Sam out. They found the cameraman tucked into Dean's shoulder at the back of the terminal, looking exhausted as the other man ran his hand through his hair.

"Sammy." Gabriel said softly as they made their way over, pausing a few feet away from the cameraman. Sam managed a weak smile.

"Gabe."

"Hey, kiddo." He waited until Dean nodded at him before he proceeded forward. "How you doin'?"

"Good." Sam said. Castiel nodded at him, catching Dean's gaze. The survivalist nodded, gently untangling Sam's arms.

"Why don't you two catch up?" Dean suggested softly to Sam, gesturing at Gabriel. "Ask him about his hangover. I'll be right back."

An overly-outraged snort came from the shorter man, but it distracted Sam. Dean took the opportunity to hustle Castiel around the corner, mouth pinched at the edges.

"You doing alright, Cas?"

He took a step back, surprised. "I'm fine. Sam is who I am worried about."

"Me too." Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "I keep asking him if he wants to reschedule, but he insists on going. Any other time I'd say yes, but the jungle's tough. You know this."

Castiel nodded. "I do. But Sam, from what I know of him, doesn't seem the type to quit."

"That's the problem. He can do it, I know he can." Dean sighed, looking back to where Gabe and Sam were talking together, the shorter man's laughter a little loud and forced. "I just don't want him to."

"My suggestion," Castiel tested the waters, watching Dean's mouth quirk, "Is to proceed as usual. Ellen sends her regards to Sam, but they want the schedule to remain unchanged. Let Sam get himself together. Part of your whole problem is that he feels like he needs to prove himself to you. He will feel better about himself when he knows he can help."

Dean snorted bitterly. "So the magic cure-all is pretending it never happened?"

"No," Castiel corrected. "But if you'd bothered to look in Sam's file all that time ago, you would have known why this would be upsetting—and why sometimes the only solution is to let it be." He pressed a copy of it into the survivalist's hands.

The survivalist nodded, face pensive as he took the papers and tucked them into a pocket. "He's been so strong. He can do this."

"Then tell him that." Castiel waved them back over to Gabriel, walking slowly. "Did you at least tell him where you were going?"

Dean nodded. "He was—is—very excited. Something about it being the cultural centerpiece of something, or whatever."

Castiel stifled a laugh at his tone. "He's right, you know."

The other man just smiled, getting a dreamy look on his face. "I know."

They made it back to the others a moment later, Dean instantly going to Sam's side. They kissed once, brief, and even Gabriel refrained from making a comment on its sweetness.

"So. Guatemala." Sam said, clapping his hands together lightly. His eyes were filled with determination, and Castiel admired him more for it. "I'm game."

"Long flight." Gabriel said. He glanced at Castiel. "I'm sure Cassy got you TVs or whatever that movie thing is."

Castiel paled, grabbing his cell phone from his pocket and checking their reservations. He sighed in relief. He had.

They continued wheeling their luggage and Sam's camera down the terminal, making it to their gate a few moments later. Sam smiled at Castiel and Gabriel, waving. Castiel mentally sighed as he caught sight of a camera to his left, wishing they would just go away. Dean seemed to notice as well, subtly shifting his body so Sam was out of the way. The cameraman was oblivious to all of this, still smiling at them.

"Thanks for all the help, guys. Y'all rock."

"Anytime!" Gabe saluted. Castiel nodded, smiling back at Sam.

"It was our pleasure," He sent a meaningful glance at Dean, praying the other man remembered their conversation. "Enjoy your trip."

Dean grabbed Sam and their luggage and they walked off, getting in line to board. A few seconds later they were walking onto the plane, disappearing into the gray walkway.

* * *

A/N Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought!:) Guatemala will definitely, definitely begin on Friday!


	10. Guatemala: Part One

A/N Guatemala! It's finally here. Thanks so much to everyone who's reading and reviewing. Y'all make my day.

* * *

**December, 2014. En route to Guatemala City. **

Dean curled into Sam for most of the flight to Guatemala City, watching the sunset through the tiny airplane window. The papers in his pocket burned, reminding him that all was not well.

They landed in Guatemala about four hours after they left Los Angeles, touching down a little after 8 pm, local time. Sam was drowsy, eyes a little unfocused as they made their way through the airport to collect their baggage. Dean hailed them a taxi once they were out of the terminal, speaking Spanish in low tones to the driver as Sam dozed on his shoulder.

The first night had nothing to do with filming, and even if it had, Dean would've insisted on pushing it back one day. He checked them into a small, out of the way hotel to the south of the city, clean and modern without being intrusive or flashy. Their baggage was taken up to their room by a wiry bellboy who looked as tired as Sam. Dean carried the cameraman up the stairs, receiving knowing looks from the group of maids they passed on the way.

By the time they entered the room Sam was snoring on Dean's shoulder, barely managing to stay awake past the threshold. Dean grunted under the extra weight, but with a hand from the bellboy they gently lifted him onto the bed. Dean tipped the boy nicely before returning to Sam, taking off the cameraman's shoes and pants. It was hot enough to sleep naked, but Dean tucked the other man into the covers of the king-sized bed and turned on the air conditioner instead.

He took a long moment to look out the hotel's wide window, overlooking the small pool and the sprawling city in the distance. In a different world he'd be on his third scotch right now, but tonight didn't feel like a drinking night. With the shoot tomorrow, and Sam's fragile (he hated to say it) emotional state, now wasn't the time to lose control.

Almost drawn to it, his hand hovered near the pocket containing Sam's papers. All this time and he still hadn't read them. He pressed a finger against the fabric, feeling the paper crinkle. It was still there.

He wasn't about to ask himself if he was ready for what was there. He had a feeling he never would, but Castiel had insisted. Sam had, even, when they'd argued in the Alps. Knowing that little bit of information, knowing a little bit more about Sam might help—maybe he'd be prepared when Sam finally wanted to talk about it. But they couldn't keep dancing around it.

The crumpled papers protested as he lifted them out of his pocket, threatening to tear in the humid air after hours of travel. He gently smoothed them out, squinting when he couldn't read in the dim light. He moved to the bathroom, settling on the closed toilet seat and spreading the papers across his lap.

He read for what felt like hours, eyes scanning small, authoritative print over and over again. A small picture of a younger Sam was tacked on to one of the reports, grinning at the camera. The report said he'd been at Stanford at the time of the picture, pre-law on a full ride. Dean's eyes widened as more photos fell out of the mass of papers. They couldn't all be from one bio, could they?

_Jessica Lee Moore_ said the picture of the headstone. A smiling blonde stared up from a picture on the gravestone, dimpled with a cute mole between her eyes. A police report followed that picture, illustrating a disastrous night of fire and bloodshed. A newspaper article on the story continued the coverage, providing the medical details of one Sam Wesson, still _in hospital _for burn treatment. He was listed in critical condition.

Dean bit his fist, trying to avoid the picture that followed. Castiel must have put this one in, because there was no way this had all been in the cameraman's cover sheet. Maybe a mention of an accident, but not this—this was personal. A drugged-looking Sam laid across a hospital bed, his back swathed with bandages, the only skin not covered an angry red. The worst was his expression; Dean could put two and two together, and the loss of this Jessica Lee Moore was written across the lines of devastation on Sam's face.

He read the last follow-up newspaper articles on the building being rebuilt, and Sam's release from the hospital months later after undergoing severe burn treatment. Nausea curled in his gut as he remembered the shiny skin across Sam's back. Burns like that took years upon years to heal, and from what he knew they _hurt_.

Sam had endured all of this. That was hard to grasp, and yet, in a sick way, it wasn't. He was strong. Dean knew, deep down, that there wasn't anyone he trusted more to brave the jungles and caves of Guatemala more than Sam, and in a moment, that settled it. He hid the papers under one of his luggage dividers, placing it into a ripped seam and throwing some clothes in front of it.

Finally, he eased back over to the bed, kicking off his shoes and pants as he climbed in next to Sam. The other man shifted slightly at the intrusion, but shuffled back into his chest a moment later. Dean closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around the other man and falling instantly into the land of dreams.

* * *

**Guatemala City**

After the long night of sleep, jet-lagged or not, Sam was excited. He bounced his way through breakfast, almost spilling food and juice more than once, memorably almost taking out Dean's crotch with a hot cup of coffee halfway through the meal. He couldn't help it. The air was so humid and _different _around them, filtered through a canopy of strange trees and bushes with flowers and vines he could never think of naming.

He was dressed and ready to go half an hour early, camera on his shoulder as he waited outside the hotel for Dean. Their taxi was due to pick them up soon, upon which it would take them to a small airport a few miles away. As per Man Vs Wild standards, they were dropping into the Guatemalan Jungle from up high, and even the threat of heights wasn't enough to deter his excitement.

Dean eventually joined him at the hotel's stairs, dark circles under his eyes. Sam frowned briefly when he saw them, but chalked it up to jet lag. He didn't even remember when Dean came to bed last night—in fact, he didn't remember falling asleep either, so that was that.

"Excited?" the other man said when he sat down. Sam nodded energetically, almost dislodging his camera.

"Yeah. You have no idea."

The survivalist just smiled, something secret bouncing around in the way it came across.

* * *

**Above the Guatemalan Jungle**

Skip forward two hours, and they were in yet another airplane, flying high above mountains and mountains covered in trees and brush. Sam smiled and adjusted for the sun as they changed direction, reveling in the semi-clear sky surrounding them. Even the clouds looked different here, spanning miles and miles of space as they floated on calmly.

He gave the signal to Dean a moment later, nodding and holding a hand out. The other man braced himself against the airplane wall, the carriage door open behind him, revealing the jungle below.

"My name is Dean Winchester, and my crew and I are about to be dropped into the Guatemalan Jungle." He yelled over the airplane's engine. "The jungle is home to some of the most deadly nature on earth, and with hundreds of species of bugs and animals, it's hard to know what's what when you're traveling through it. Thousands of tourists get lost here every year. I'm here to show you how to avoid the dangers of the jungle, and to survive until help is available."

Dean's eyes flicked almost unnoticeably to Sam's back, double-checking that his parachute was in place. With a tap to his own back he clambered out onto the edge of the open airplane, tossing his trademark smirk to the camera as he tipped back into a freefall.

Sam let the camera follow him, stepping forward. God, this part never got old (or less scary). He mentally crossed himself and jumped, making sure to clear his head before tipping sideways.

They tumbled towards the canopy below, Dean opening his chute a second before Sam. He followed the other man's directions as they were swept away by a gust of wind, tossed towards a mass of gray thousands of feet below them. Sam realized what it was moments before his feet touched down, bracing himself.

Dean quickly untangled himself as he hit the volcano, boots kicking up dust from the dark ground. Sam's eyes widened as his own boots began to heat up, looking up the slope of the mountain. At the top he could see just a trail of smoke, edging out into glowing lines of lava that crept down the rock.

"This volcano is active," Sam snorted. _No shit_. "Toxic fumes are one of your first worries, but also remember that the ground beneath you is hot." Dean demonstrated by kicking some ash away, revealing rock beneath. "I need to get off this peak quickly, and find lower ground."

Sam followed as the other man slid experimentally down the ashy, warped terrain, digging his feet in as the ground gave way beneath his feet. Dean slipped in front of him, putting a hand out as his body tilted almost horizontal to the ash.

"My best bet is to head to the north," Dean instructed, pointing briefly at the sun as they slipped and slid down the gravelly volcanic rock. "Ancient Mayan people built temples and other areas of worship deep in the jungle, and many of them lie in that direction. They're popular with tourists, and that means civilization. The sun is rising in the east right now, so we'll head north."

The trip down was hard, to say the least. Sam nearly twisted an ankle multiple times, struggling to stay on his feet as the ground dissolved beneath his shoes. He saw Dean go down at least once, but the other man was always quick to get back on his feet, a determined look on his face. He never strayed too far from Sam, though, for which he was strangely grateful.

After a grueling half hour they made it to the base of the volcano. From here it looked ethereal, smoke and clouds obscuring the crown, letting only the dull glow of the magma seep through. Sam caught a wide shot and sighed at the terrifying beauty of the sleeping giant.

Dean drew his attention back towards the north, pointing out a gap in the trees.

"The river is your best option when traveling through the jungle. Hacking through dense wilderness is almost never a good idea, if you're trying to conserve energy." Dean stepped forward, attempting to walk through a few feet of the brush. "As you can see, there's almost no physical path. If following a river is an option, you should take advantage it. Walking on a riverbed makes traveling a lot easier, and safer. Water also leads to food, which in turn can lead you to other people."

With that they turned into the small gap Dean had pointed out, dodging branches and vines and they pushed into the jungle. Sam was instantly hit with how noisy it was, the heat and humidity mixing the second he stepped in. He forced himself past a large fern in an effort to catch up with Dean, grimacing as it sliced across his face. The survivalist trekked on ahead of him, eager to reach the river.

The foliage eventually opened up into a low riverbed, water filling up one side, sand piling up on the other end. The uneven bed was a relief after just a few feet of the dense jungle, and Sam wasted no time following Dean.

"As we go further into the jungle, more opportunities for food and water open up," the survivalist instructed once they'd reached the edge of the river, already shedding one of his shirts. Sam wanted to do the same and groaned internally. "Only follow the river in daytime hours, however. Crocodiles and other predators hunt during the night, and while they want to avoid you just as much as you want to avoid them, they can prove a serious danger."

They began the walk down the lopsided riverbed, Dean pointing out animal trails when he observed them. Sam grinned as he spotted a couple of fish in the river, mesmerized by the flash of their scales in the sunlight. He felt his spirits rise gradually as they walked, until he was outright smiling when they reached the cliff.

Dean propped his hands on his hips when they found the edge, a look of extreme concentration on his face. A second later he turned, walking over to a patch of trees to their left.

"The waterfall is almost a hundred feet above the river," Dean said, reaching up into the trees and yanking a vine free. He rolled it in his hands, pulling more and more down. "This vine is thin, but it's strong. If I can get enough, it'll be more than sturdy enough to climb down with."

Sam raised an eyebrow at the thin-looking vine, shrugging internally. He trusted Dean, but that vine didn't look like it would hold the survivalist much longer than a few seconds.

Dean demonstrated wrapping the vine around a rock jutting out from the edge, tying a complicated knot Sam didn't get much more than the basics of before it was finished. The other man pulled on it once, tightening any slack before he got to his knees, sliding over the edge with the vine in his hands. Water fell just to the right of his head, thousands of pounds of crushing force a mere few inches away.

Sam most definitely did not panic as Dean disappeared from view, even though the knot was holding, to his surprise. He stepped forward cautiously, gasping when he saw Dean just a few feet below him, slowly rappelling down.

The other man made it look easy, pushing out against the rocky wall of the waterfall with his boots. Dean traveled a little more than halfway before he climbed into a small alcove, resting on a medium sized rock that overlooked the river.

"You're next!" Dean shouted up, cupping his hands. Sam swallowed his nervousness. He'd seen this coming. "Sam, grab the vine with both hands and slide off the rock slowly. Don't move too fast; take your time."

Easier said than done. Sam grimaced, strapping his camera across his back so just the lens looked over his shoulder, pinned in by a flexible strap. He grabbed the slim vine and laid on his stomach, sliding his legs across the rocky edge and praying that now was not the time the vine chose to break.

The vine was extremely strong, to his surprise. It felt like a thin cord between his palms, holding his weight as he pushed off the rock. He got his feet out in front of him, remembering rock climbing as a kid and the importance of protecting his head. He slowly let the vine slide between his fingers, dropping a few feet before he kicked out again. His arms strained slightly with the exercise, but it wasn't difficult. Sam grinned in relief, rappelling down a few more yards.

Dean was at the bottom when he finished, gently guiding him into the alcove he'd stopped at earlier. Sam flushed as Dean's hands gripped his lower back, fairly certain the camera had caught something. The survivalist pulled him onto the rock, making sure they were settled before addressing the camera again. He looked insanely proud, something that Sam felt even through the viewfinder.

"Unfortunately, the rest of the waterfall isn't climbable," Dean pointed at the thirty or so feet left below them. "The river above us has worn away the rest of the rock, and travels across almost all of it. In a situation like this, with no other option, it looks like we'll have to jump."

_Jump?_ Sam's eyes bugged out. He glanced up from the viewfinder, intending to argue with Dean. The other man didn't see his worry, bent over and fiddling with something in his backpack. Sam frowned as it was pulled out. More vine?

Dean grabbed a medium sized rock from the wall next to them, pulling it free and tying the length of vine around it firmly. He hefted it in his hand, checking the vine once before throwing it into the water below them. Sam was mystified.

"What I just made was something we'll call a jump test," Dean said, watching the water where the rock had disappeared. "I tied ten or so feet of vine to the rock, and threw it into the water. If the entire ten feet disappears, the water should be deep enough to jump into from this height. If not, then it's too shallow."

Sam nodded. It was smart. He focused the camera's gaze on the water, watching for hints of the vine resurfacing. When nothing appeared after a few moments, Dean nodded. He gave Sam a small smile, eyes conveying a deeper meaning: _Everything's okay. We got this._

Dean instructed the audience on safe jumping skills (legs straight and together, head above the body) before leaping off the ledge, jumping far enough out to clear the rocky ledge below them. Sam watched as he fell, splashing into the water cleanly. He breathed a sigh of relief as the other man surfaced unharmed, grinning up at Sam. Dean gave him a thumbs up, gesturing for him to follow.

Sam stepped out to the edge. It was just like jumping off the airplane—just shorter. He clutched the camera in his hands and jumped as Dean had instructed, landing a few feet from the other man and splashing water everywhere, sinking a good ten feet into the cold, murky water.

He couldn't help but laugh when he surfaced, grinning as Dean splashed water back at him. Sam turned the camera off record and swam over, grabbing the survivalist and kissing him fiercely.

"We're never doing that again." Sam breathed when they split for air. "You're insane. Crazy."

"Oh babe," Dean grinned. "You're gonna hate what's next."

* * *

They followed the river for another few miles, pulling over every now and then as Dean spotted something vaguely edible. Sam tried the pith of palms (crunchy, kind of like a tasteless celery) and a small, crab-like animal Dean had caught in a shallow pool (disgusting, and _alive_ as it wriggled down his throat). The best part by far, however, was watching Dean endure all of this. Sam was an adventurous eater, but he knew Dean disliked this part. Even he could barely restrain from gagging as the survivalist chomped down on beetle larvae, and he had even more respect for Dean when he swallowed it. Didn't mean they were kissing anytime soon, though.

Halfway through their day Dean led them into a small network of caves, searching for more food. Unsurprisingly, it was pitch dark inside, so Dean carefully put together a torch of some flammable resin and bark and lit it with his flint, keeping the flame high above the water.

"Thousands of years of water has worn away the insides of these caves," Dean said reverently, torch held aloft as they waded through the waist-high water. "A vast majority of them are unexplored. Ancient Mayans used to think they were the gates into the underworld. They called them _chivalva_, or 'place of fear.'"

Sam watched in awe as the fire danced across the warped walls, their voices echoing off into endless passages. The cave was unsettlingly large and small at once, filled with torrents of water everyway he turned. The fire blazed in front of him, drawing his attention back to Dean.

"Ah. Sam, stop."

He slammed into Dean's outstretched arm, taking a slow step backwards against the current. Leaning forward, he spotted what had stopped them.

Another waterfall blocked their way, churning white water dropping an unknown number of feet down into the dark cave. Dean lifted the torch over it, but even the fire's light wasn't enough to see down.

"We'll have to climb again," Dean said, grabbing _more _of the vine from his backpack of inexhaustible resources. "If we find a smaller rock, I can make a climbing nut." He grabbed something barely bigger than a pebble, wrapping his vine around it. Considering for a moment, he shoved the rock into a crack in the rock, wedging it in there.

"Dean,"

The other man had just grabbed the vine. "Yeah?"

"Let me go down first." Sam gestured at the camera. "It would look better from the bottom."

"Sam-" Dean transferred the torch to his other palm, running his unoccupied hand through his hair. He seemed to bite his tongue. "Are you sure?"

"I can climb fine," Sam grinned slightly, hefting the camera. "Can't let you have all the fun, can I?" It was a pretty weak argument, but the shot would look pretty good from the bottom. Especially with the fire.

Dean seemed to consider this, then relented. "Okay. Fine. Let me split the torch so you have light."

He ripped the wood apart, wrapping the bindings around the second torch quickly as not to get burned. Sam took the second torch and stuck it under his arm, keeping the lit end far from him. He grabbed the vine and smiled reassuringly at Dean.

"On belay?"

The survivalist nodded at him. "Belay on."

"Climbing?"

"Climb on."

* * *

Sam slid over the gushing water, holding onto the vine with both hands. Dean bit down on his worry, watching carefully as the cameraman climbed carefully down, taking it one step at a time like he'd instructed.

"Sam, you good?"

He could barely see the other man anymore, their torches the only light. "Yeah. M'good."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, anxious. He sent a cursory glance at the vine, peering at it in the darkness. Was it fraying, or was it just him?

He launched forward as the vine split, barely holding on with the few fibers that remained. Dean dropped his torch as he jumped, shouting as the vine tore completely. _No, damn it!_

Sam cried out once and was silent, his torch disappearing into darkness. Dean felt frantically for the end of the rock, shouting the cameraman's name. How could he have been so stupid and let a weak vine pass unnoticed? _How_?

"SAM!" No response came. "_Sam_!"

His damp, forgotten torch finally snuffed out, and everything went black.

* * *

A/N Leave me a review, and tell me what you thought! Next chapter will be up next week!:)


	11. Guatemala: Part Two

A/N Hey guys! A shorter chapter for you this week, unfortunately. School just started up, and the chaos is...well, chaotic. Nevertheless, the next part of this chapter will be out by next week! Got any requests for the next location?

Thanks to my beta and everyone who's been reading + reviewing. You rock my school-filled day.

* * *

**December, 2014. Guatemalan Jungle. Caves. **

Dean slipped on the edge of the rock, arms flailing as his foot hit empty air. He crashed forwards into the white spray of the water, frantically scrabbling for some sort of hold. This couldn't be happening. It _couldn't_.

He fell for about five feet before something hit him in the chest, _hard_. A strong arm wrapped itself around his waist, pinning him between the rock of the cave and warm muscle. He was just few feet away from the thunderous spout of water, blind.

"_Sam._" For a moment, Dean couldn't comprehend the arm around him. "Sam!"

There was a small, pained grunt. "Yeah. M'good."

Dean peered into the darkness, his eyes slowly adjusting to the inky black of the cave. He could barely see anything, but inches from his face he could feel Sam's breath, hot against his skin. Dean's heart stuttered in an all-consuming feeling of relief, and he hugged the other man close. Or, you know, closer.

"Oh Jesus," Dean suddenly realized their position, or as much as he could guess at from where he was. He dug his feet into the rock, hoping to take the burden off the cameraman. "Are you holding on okay?"

Sam's reply was slightly breathless. "I've got the camera wedged into the rock here, and my right foot's pretty stable. Other than that—no."

Dean blinked. That meant Sam was holding both of them up, and him one-handed. "Do you know how far down it goes?"

"About another ten or fifteen feet," the cameraman replied, wriggling his hold slightly to 'look' down. "It's still water down there, though."

"How do you know?" Dean was the survivalist, he was allowed to be skeptical.

"I lost my shoe."

"_So_?"

Sam huffed a sigh next to him, hand still iron-tight around his waist. "So, I counted before I heard the splash and did some math. We're about ten feet above the water, like I said."

Dean felt a wave of shame at his words, remembering Castiel's reminder three lifetimes ago. Sam was smart, he'd known this—he just never thought he'd get to see it in action. "Okay."

"Okay." Sam repeated, calmer than Dean would've guessed. He wondered if the other man's arms were tired yet. It was a dumb question. "Can you see at all?"

"No. You?"

Sam's head shook against his, sending soft hair past his face. "No. But the camera has a night vision setting. If I can get to it, I can direct you."

Dean nodded. Sam being all authoritative and professional was...new. He trusted the cameraman's eyes more than his at the moment, though. "Up or down?"

"Down. We're too low to get back up, especially against that water. If the water's deep enough at the bottom, there should be another exit for the cave to depressurize."

It was smart. "Okay, but what about the camera?"

"I was thinking you'd jump, then I'd wedge it out and follow."

Dean scoffed. "And what, turn it on in midair? What if it isn't deep enough?"

"It's waterproof. I can make it." Dean couldn't see Sam's eyes, but he could feel the other man's conviction. He was being an ass and they both knew it. "Besides. Then you get some kickass footage for later."

He laughed frantically into Sam's chest. Oh god, he'd fucked this up. He slowly loosened the cameraman's hold on his chest. There wouldn't be a world where he'd admit fear, but it looked a little like him right now, clinging to Sam and definitely not praying. "A-Alright. On three?"

"One."

Dean wasn't scared. He'd climbed Mount Everest. Eaten millipedes. Slept on desert floors.

"Two."

Dove into white water rapids. Killed more things than he could count.

(watched the love of his life tumble, into darkness)

"Three."

He jumped.

* * *

Sam felt Dean's weight slip away and tried not to reach out after the other man. His arms were numb from where he'd been holding on to Dean's waist, and the rocks under his right foot were beginning to slip. The camera handle he'd desperately held onto had cut into his hand from their combined weight, but it saved their lives. He would take a little pain over seeing Dean fall again.

After a few seconds he could hear a small splash, dampened by the pounding of water in the cave. His heart froze as no voice called out to him.

"Dean?"

A cough, then the sound of him spitting water. "Clear!"

"Good," Sam smiled, mouth a little wobbly around the grin. "I'm coming down. Swim to the farthest corner so I don't hit you." Dean yelled out an affirmative a second later.

He counted down in his head, slowly wrapping his second hand around the camera strap. On _three_ he yanked the camera out of the rock, hands stinging as the weight swung into his chest.

Sam fell quicker than he would've thought, hitting water a half a thought later. He took a second to be grateful that his feet didn't hit the cave bottom, wondering in vain if his shoe was still floating around somewhere. When he surfaced, Dean was pawing at him, hands finding his face.

"You okay? Sam? Hey!"

He shrugged off Dean's hands, though not intentionally. Swimming was hard while injured. "I'm fine. I'm good. You ready?"

"Let me just look at you—your-"

There was nothing _to _see. It was still black as night. "Here. I'm gonna turn the night vision on. We gotta get out of here."

"But-" Dean's blind fumble for him grazed his chest, making him gasp in pain. He covered it up with a smile the other man couldn't see.

"We can patch up once we're _out _of the creepy cave of death. Okay?" _Whose idea was going in here again?_

Dean must have nodded, swimming back a few feet. Sam booted up the night vision and sighed in relief as the survivalist's face came into focus on the screen, tinged green.

"We've—uh—just fallen down a waterfall inside one of the caves." Dean, for the first time Sam'd seen him, looked lost. "My cameraman and I are alright. We're using the—the night vision setting, due to the loss of our torches in the fall."

Sam swam forward, nonverbally cuing Dean to start finding a way out. He realized, a painful second later, that the other man was still quite literally in the dark.

"Dean. There's a crack of light to your right." He eyed the small shimmer in his viewfinder, gesturing uselessly. "Swim about ten feet forward and three to the right."

The survivalist did as instructed, and they swam towards the light. Sam gave directions intermittently, crowing in delight as sunlight split the rock.

"Oh thank Jesus." He said once they'd made it to the shore of the cave's exit, slumping onto the pebbles at the mouth. "Let's never, _ever _do that again."

Dean refused to be stilled, walking briskly over to where he lay. "Sit up."

Sam tried not to feel offended by the sharp tone, rolling over onto his side. The survivalist quickly ran his hands over his body, prodding at his ribs. Sam winced, unable to hide the reaction from the other man.

Dean grunted instead of saying something, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Hands."

Sam held them up dutifully, getting yet another frown from the other man. He tried to sigh and winced, feeling the aching pain down in his ribs and knowing there was no way that was even _remotely_ good.

"Alright," Dean sat back on his heels, tone to the point and almost cold. "Bruised, maybe cracked ribs. Two, I think, on your left. You probably hit the wall. Scrapes, bruises, a deep incision on your right palm and-"

"One lost shoe." Sam finally pushed himself upright, hiding the pain it caused. He glanced at his socked foot. "Damn. I liked that pair, too."

"This isn't a _joke_." Dean said, voice hardening. "You're injured."

"So are you!" Sam pointed at his wrist, cradled almost unnoticeably in the other man's hands. "I'm fine."

"We're bedding down early," was all Dean said, pointing at the camera. "If I see you lifting that I'm gonna kick your ass. Drag it to some bushes and stash it there. I'm going to find shelter."

Sam's eyes widened in shock, anger flaring through him a second later. How was it that he was the one who'd saved their asses, and _Dean _was the one treating him like a child? "Excuse me?"

"Sit. The fuck. Down." Dean pointed, intentionally not meeting his eyes. "You're hurt. You keep messing around on ribs like that, you're gonna get worse. I'm talking punctured lungs, here."

Sam bit off his retort, tasting acid in his mouth. "I know."

"So do as you're told." Dean said, stalking off. Sam watched in dismay as his back disappeared into the dense forest, fighting off a strange burning in his eyes.

* * *

Dean took his knife out and hacked at the low-hanging vines, slicing away useless shrubbery and plants until he was in a small clearing under some trees. The hand around the knife was clenched in anger. His heart wouldn't stop freezing in fear.

He was being an asshole. He could see it in Sam's eyes. He just—he reverted to this, to cold distancing to keep it from stinging too much. Seeing Sam in pain warred with how proud he was of the other man. The two images played across his mind, the sensation of cracked ribs bending under his touch paired with the proud, strong smile the cameraman had given him once they'd gotten out. That had been Sam, from the fall into the water to the night vision camera. That had been all Sam.

"Dammit." He said as he tripped on a tree root, glaring up at the offending tree. He instinctively evaluated the height and width, even if he'd stubbed his toe. A moment later he was nodding to himself. This would do.

He returned to find Sam curled up where he'd left him, hand absently playing with his camera. When he saw Dean he struggled to sit up, trying to hide the pain that flashed across his face. Dean wasn't fooled, but calling him out on it would cause further arguments. (And why did they always argue when Sam was injured, damn it?)

"I've got a tree we can stay in. I'll have to make a sleeping platform, but it should be done soon. It's not even sunset yet, so we have time."

Sam nodded numbly, avoiding his gaze. There was no camera at his feet. Dean felt a wave of shame pass over him, guilt curling in his gut. He'd hurt Sam, yelling and arguing his way out of admitting he was just worried. Concerned.

Scared.

Not willing to deal with that revelation, he returned to the tree without helping Sam up, something he bit his lip against doing. He'd see. Sam couldn't pretend he was fine forever.

Damn it. He risked a glance back and saw the cameraman holding his chest slightly, favoring his right side.

The urge to run back to Sam and pick him up was almost overwhelming. Cas' words echoed in his head again, perfectly on time. Well, the older man had been right. Giving Sam some independence had done wonders.

He needed to fix this.

* * *

Sam settled down in the front of the tree as he made the platform, knees curled up underneath him. Their clothes took forever and a day to dry out in the humid air, but it happened. After maybe an hour of work the platform was done, the sun setting brilliantly in the west.

Dean hauled the shelter up on his own, refusing to let Sam help. The vines around the structure looked thin—and after the disaster in the cave, he was taking no chances—but the survivalist seemed to know what he was doing, layering the structure with more and more materials until even Sam could admit it looked sturdy.

The sleeping platform was raised a good fifteen feet off the ground, according to Dean safe enough to sleep on and far away from the low hanging branches (where the jungle cats liked to sleep, apparently). Sam made to climb up after Dean was done, getting a stern look from the other man.

"What?" Sam asked, waving his arm on the good side. Dean's glare could've split rock.

"No."

This was past unreasonable. "There is literally _no _way to get up there without climbing."

Dean seemed to consider this, staring stonily at the ground as he tied off the final vines. Sam shrugged at him, pissed enough to just start climbing. He made it about halfway before he noticed Dean had moved, standing directly below him with his arms outstretched. God, did this hurt. But there was no way he was showing that to Dean.

"M'fine." Sam grabbed another limb, bodily hauling himself up further. The night sky was spectacular, even from only halfway up. His breathing was only slightly labored at this point, obviously a good sign. "Bring a couple more leaves. It's cold up here."

Dean grunted below him, whether in irritation or acknowledgement. However, when Sam made it up (after hours of grueling, terrible rib pain) the survivalist was just a few feet behind him, palm fronds in hand.

"You're sure this'll hold us." Sam said skeptically, eyeing the frame. It was big enough, sure, but what if one of them rolled off in the night?

Dean seemed to read his mind, even though they were technically 'fighting', or whatever the hell teenagers called it. "I won't let you fall."

_Again_ was implied. The survivalist was obviously placing the blame for the frayed vine on himself, instead of on Sam 'Let me go first, no really' Wesson. Self-deprecating asshole. They'd gotten out mostly unscathed, and that was what counted, right?

Sam resolved this with himself as he slowly climbed onto the sleeping platform, heart fluttering as it shook slightly. He balanced himself, crawling over to the left side and laying down on his back. He couldn't stop the pained grunt that escaped his lips when he did so, but he didn't have to watch Dean if he closed his eyes, so that's what he did.

He didn't expect the gentle pair of arms that closed around his waist a moment later, carefully avoiding his ribs as they drew him close. Dean smelled like sweat and the jungle, but underneath that all there was a reassuring scent, something intangible he couldn't quite place.

"Hey," Sam mumbled, tucking his head into Dean's shoulder and relaxing into the other man. He felt a hot burn in his eyes and quickly dampened all gooey feelings. Of course he'd have some hormonal reaction to this.

"Hey." Dean echoed, voice slightly hollow. When Sam looked up his eyes were fixed straight on him, intensely green. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? Like I got hit by a mack truck." Sam said, forgetting who he was talking to. Dean flinched, and he backpedaled immediately. "But, you know, the Barbie sized one. Psh."

Dean gave him an unimpressed look, eyes narrowing. "Sam-"

The cameraman cut him off with a half wave. "It's fine, it's fine. Forget I said anything. I just…I just don't wanna talk about it, okay? This was our…I dunno, _vacation_, and it's all ruined." Sam actually felt the tears threaten again. This was ridiculous. "Let me just keep this—this _thing_ for now?"

He gestured at the embrace they were in, hand fluttering to land on Dean's bicep. The other man's gaze softened, the stoic demeanor lessening.

"I'm sorry."

Sam blinked. "This is going to sound stupid, but I'm not accepting your apology."

He could hear the other man splutter. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Not happening."

"Why not?"

Sam grabbed Dean's arm before he could drag it away. "Because you. Did. Nothing. Wrong. It was an accident. It happens to everyone. Even badass, macho survivalists."

"The vine-"

"Broke." Sam affirmed. "Could you control that?"

"No." Dean was lightening up, though there was a severity to him. "I just—I can't afford to make mistakes like that. Not with you." He pinched the bridge of his nose, a stress signal Sam was getting familiar with spotting. "I just can't deal with that, okay? I need to know you're safe. Always."

"Well," Sam said softly, "I picked the wrong job."

Dean didn't respond, instead curling further around Sam, still mindful of his ribs. His hand was stroking Sam's back yet again, instinctively finding home there. It was comforting.

"You need to be less…growly." Sam said after a moment. He felt Dean stiffen next to him but realized a second later he was laughing. "I'm serious."

Dean quieted. "I know." He said, somber. "I know I'm not…fair to you always."

"You're not," Sam agreed, "I mean, distancing like that? Barking out orders? That's not how this is supposed to work. It's not, Dean."

"I know," He repeated, a hand finding Sam's face. He turned it so Sam was facing him, looking directly in his eyes. "Sam, I wanted to tell you, I'm so proud of you."

"Proud?" Sam scoffed, trying to turn his head. "Hey, let me go."

"No. Not until you hear what I have to say." Dean took a deep breath, obviously gearing himself up. "You handled yourself so well today. You've always been strong—I guess I just don't always want to see that."

Sam shrugged, then winced. "Gee, thanks."

"Really. I've been…I guess I've been thinking about it a lot lately." Dean turned so they were both on their side, staring in each other's eyes. "Cas told me some things…some things about you. You don't have to—talk about it with me-" He shrugged, looking like he felt like dirt as Sam flinched. "—but I just wanted to tell you that I am proud of you. Even if I don't sound like it. I am so, so proud."

Sam had frozen during the last sentence, silent under Dean's hand. He finally spoke, hands trembling slightly.

"You know...about Jess?"

* * *

A/N Cliffie again! I know. Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought!:) Next part will be up next week, I promise. Got any location requests?


	12. Guatemala: Part Three

A/N Another chapter for you! Sorry for the long wait. I hope you enjoy. The next location will be revealed at the end of the chapter!

* * *

_He's late, running from the library to the bus station with an entire semester's worth of books on his back. His psych textbook nearly tipped him off the bus as he hopped on, flashing the frazzled-looking driver a quick smile before making his way to his seat. He checked his phone again, unable to believe he'd missed so much time researching. He'd just eaten lunch; how was it five forty already?_

_Jess was probably already at home, the weary smile she always wore when he was late firmly fixed on her face. It wasn't a birthday, wasn't an anniversary, but this night had been planned weeks in advance, considering his workload (and hers). Dinner at five-thirty, maybe a walk in the small park a few blocks away later. He'd been looking forward to it like nothing else, which made his ignorance sting that much more. Trust him to screw up yet another date. Jess was an angel he didn't deserve._

_He counted the seconds between each stop as the bus made its way down the route, praying to the unsatisfied gods of the traffic lights that green would be their favorite color today. His prayers went unanswered, and the red that shone through the cracked plastic windows was a glaring _fuck you, Sam Wesson.

_He vaulted out of the bus when it stopped, stumbling as his center of balance compensated for the thirty pounds on his back. Sam sprinted down the sidewalk, the three blocks to their apartment blurring around him._

I'm coming, Jess_, He thought, excitement pouring through him. He could smell the cookies she would've baked out of boredom like he was standing right next to her, following the scent of vanilla to the kitchen, up her neck, across her skin. _Almost there.

_He skidded to a stop at the corner, everything freezing as his mind caught up to what his eyes were seeing. No. _No.

_Jess._

* * *

"You know...about Jess?"

Dean breathed in slowly as Sam stiffened against him, praying the other man wouldn't roll away and injure himself further. "Cas showed me."

He tried not to cringe as Sam's breathing stuttered, resisting the urge to tighten his hold on the cameraman. "Sam-"

"No, it's fine." Sam said, voice sounding slightly choked. It angered him that there was nothing he could do about the pain he could hear there. "I knew you would. I practically forced you to look."

"We don't have to talk about it," Dean soothed, continuing to rub circles up the cameraman's back. Sam shook his head, shifting slightly. Dean watched in awe as the other man turned his entire body over completely, bringing them face to face.

"I want to." Sam's eyes were wet, but there was confidence hiding behind the tears. "If that's...okay? Okay with you?"

"God, yes." Dean reassured too quickly, moving his hand to the nape of Sam's neck. Sam was the last person to have to beg in front of him. He cleared his throat. "Sam...you don't have to ask. I'll-I'll always be ready to listen? Okay?"

Sam nodded, glancing at him briefly. "I know."

A long silence fell between them, the jungle coming alive around their tree hideaway as Sam's breathing quieted. Dean felt the cameraman tuck his head into his shoulder, waiting patiently for him to begin.

The silence continued for another long moment, Sam breathing quietly as Dean laid back, watching the still-light sliver of sky to the west. The air felt charged, unfulfilled. He breathed in as Sam shifted, beginning to speak.

"I loved Jess. I don't know how many people asked me after-afterwards, but that never changed." Sam fixed his gaze above Dean's shoulder, eyeing the fading sunset. "I was pre-law at Stanford before it happened. We met the summer of my junior year and bought an apartment together. She was the love of my life, but I wasn't completely..._straight_, I guess." The cameraman scoffed, frowning. "That's a stupid way to put it, but it was true. I knew guys. I had a few relationships before Jess, but nothing serious. I met her and I knew she was the one for me."

_Bisexual, _Dean's mind supplied. He rubbed soothing circles up Sam's back, wondering when it would come into play. He ignored the inappropriate jealousy that curled up somewhere near his stomach.

"Go on." Dean said, smiling softly at Sam. The cameraman nodded into his shoulder, breathing in once.

"One of my old hookups was a guy. Azazel. I didn't get his real name. Maybe that was it. We split after about one week, but he didn't take it well." Sam shuddered briefly, and Dean almost wanted to stop him and ask about it. "I broke off ties pretty quickly, put some distance between us just to be safe, and thought that was it. He left town, and that was that.

"Jess and I were supposed to have dinner-" Sam's face crumpled, the mask of calm flaking away. "I was late home from the library. I remember being so pissed at myself, jumping the bus late, thinking about our date. When I got home, I-we-"

Dean's memory brought up the fire report in technicolor, flashing bright in his mind. Firefighters reported it as intentional, that someone had set it deliberately.

"Our apartment was on fire," Sam choked, eyes leaking tears. "She was inside. I knew it. I ran upstairs...I tried to get her out, Dean…"

"I know." He whispered, unable to do anything else than keep rubbing circles. "I know."

Sam swallowed, eyes glassy and red-rimmed as he raised his head up. Dean stared back, trying to keep the pity out of his eyes. The cameraman didn't want pity.

"I woke up in the hospital a week later," Sam said after a moment of hitched breaths. "My back was covered in third degree burns. I'd had a half dozen surgeries, some s-skin grafts while I was out. Apparently a piece of wood hit me while I was in there. A firefighter found me and dragged me out, but Jess…"

Dean felt his heart break as Sam's control broke completely. He buried his head in Dean's arms, sobbing freely.

"Azazel w-was there. The police told me they had a suspect on video. They a-asked me if I had any enemies." Sam gasped, hands clenching together. "I didn't know he even knew where I lived. I thought he was _gone_."

Dean felt his face pale at the fear he saw in Sam's face. He'd read the police report, but God. What Sam had gone through…

"It took the better part of a year for me to get out of the hospital." Sam took a few deep breaths, impressing Dean with his control. "They never found him. He went to ground, never tried to contact me. I left school because I was so scared, not that there was anything there left for me. I moved to L.A., met Gabe and took up photography." His face cracked into a smile, bitter and so painful it made Dean's chest hurt. "The rest, as they say, is history."

The survivalist was speechless, captivated by Sam's confession. It was worlds away from a few sheets of paper.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered, pulling Sam closer to him. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I really am."

He felt Sam tense under him and relented with the sympathy, fingers sliding under the cameraman's shirt and tracing the scars he found there.

"How long were you in the hospital?"

What he could see of Sam's face was pinched. "Too long."

"Photography."

Sam stared at him, lifting his head. "What?"

"That's what you chose. After pre-law?"

He smiled to himself as Sam's face lost some of its sadness, lips quirking. "I always thought it was beautiful."

The pure ability Sam had to prop himself up and smile after something so painful astounded Dean. He pushed his nose into Sam's hair, breathing in deep.

"I swear, you have a thing for my hair." Sam teased, his voice gaining strength with every second. "It's kinda weird."

"You're weird." Dean smiled against Sam's neck, laying a kiss there. He trailed up Sam's neck, feeling the man relax beneath him. "And beautiful. And a great cameraman."

"Oh, so you're bribing me for sex now?" Sam asked, eyes glinting in the darkness. Dean froze, his lips against Sam's neck. He wouldn't take advantage of Sam right now. He pulled away, laying Sam gently down next to him.

"No. We're going to bed."

Sam whined next to him, trying to prop himself up on one elbow and clutching at his ribs. "Oof. Okay."

Dean wasn't fooled by the suddenly light mood, wrapping Sam into his chest, secure in his arms. He couldn't get enough of the younger man, and he didn't deserve a piece of him. This wonderful man who wanted to be happy all the time and had a hole in his heart as big as Dean's.

He felt Sam shudder against his chest a few moments later and nodded along in his head as a wetness hit his arm.

_I love you, _He whispered, so quiet. So quietly, a breath into Sam's hair. _And I'm so, so sorry._

* * *

Castiel resisted the urge to sigh as he glanced at the array of social media in front of him, Yahoo's top six news stories warring with twitter's trending topics of the day. Every single site he checked seemed to reflect the paparazzi's newest infatuation-Sam and Dean.

Gabriel heard his sigh from where he was watching his smartphone across the room, glancing up.

"More news?"

Castiel nodded grimly.

"I don't understand why the media considers their partnership so controversial. The lengths they've gone to research Sam is at best unethical."

"That's cause the paps are shitheads, and insensitive at best." Gabriel walked across the room, settling next to Cas by the computer. "They'll make it through this. You know they will."

He was oddly reassured by the smaller man, calm gold eyes staring into his. "They had their own problems to deal with in the first place."

Gabriel's expression deflated just slightly, his head falling forwards.

"I know," he said after a second. "Hopefully they're out in the jungle doing that right now. Sam's had some issues to work out for a while with your boy."

Castiel frowned at the other man, finally drawing his entire attention from the computer screen. "He's not 'my boy'. And Dean would never hurt Sam. We've discussed this."

"Sam's been through a lot of stuff, alright?" Gabriel defended quickly. "The day I'm not overprotective about that oversized sasquatch is the day I die."

Castiel could see the truth in his eyes, mirrored in his own emotions. He would do anything for Dean, after years and years of knowing the younger man.

After years and years of his own loneliness-finding not just two young men who deserved each other, but a partner for himself as well. This moment should have been happy, not morose.

"I agree." He said to Gabriel, turning the computer screen off with a flick of his finger. "Enough about the news. If the situation doesn't resolve itself by tomorrow, I'll call Ellen and have her pull some strings."

Gabriel looked surprised, eyebrows raised. "Your lady's got that kinda juice?"

"I believe she is capable of intimidating the press, yes."

A low whistle. "Damn. Always knew that woman was scary. She was the one who got Sam on the show."

"Her daughter is equally terrifying," Castiel added out of the blue, the memory catching him off guard. "She threatened to cut my genitalia off with a paring knife during a fight she had with Dean."

"Awww. But I _like_ your genitalia, Junkless," Gabriel shoved him slightly, causing him to fall onto the bed right next to the computer. "In fact, we should use that word all the time. It can be your new nickname."

"You're insatiable," Castiel glared up at him, hand layered protectively near his crotch. "And that is not a suitable nickname. Try again."

"Cookie."

"No."

"Angel face?"

"No."

"Sugar monkey?"

"Absolutely not."

"Pumpkin?"

"Try again."

"Nana."

"I'm not your grandmother."

"Baby?"

Castiel sighed.

* * *

Sam woke up warm, the humidity causing him to sweat profusely the second he started moving again. He carefully disentangled from Dean, smiling to himself as the other man's arm reached for him even in sleep. He felt lighter after last night's confession, somehow. Telling Dean had lifted something off his chest. Sleeping on a pile of branches and leaves, suspended thirty feet above the Guatemalan Jungle, he'd slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

He was about to stretch his ribs and test his climbing skills when a small movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. His whole body froze as he spotted it, curled into the hollow of a branch mere feet from his face.

A green-mantled snake was wound in and around the branch they'd climbed up on, eyes fixed on Sam. He blinked, racking his brain for facts on snakes. Were all jungle reptiles venomous?

Sam played it safe and elbowed Dean, panicking only slightly. The other man woke with a grunt, quickly shushed by Sam. He moved to stand, getting a gentle (read: forceful) nudge from Sam. Wordlessly he gestured at the snake, eyes wide.

He saw Dean's mouth shape the words _oh shit _before his survivalist mask slipped on, eyes going glazed for a second. Sam watched in equal parts terror and fascination as Dean peered at the snake, head tilting.

The moment Dean broke off a branch and started edging towards the reptile, that fascination disappeared. He scrambled backwards as slowly as he could, heart slamming in his chest. There was a possibly venomous snake inches from their bed, and Dean was going to poke it with a _stick_?

Dean took the branch, carefully forked at on end, and pushed it towards the snake's head. Keeping its mouth between the prongs, he gently guided the snake towards the branches on the other side of the tree. Sam's eyes widened even further as the snake hissed, then turned towards the direction Dean was pushing. It slithered away slowly, scales glinting in the morning sun as it slid over the rough wood.

"Well, that was an interesting way to wake up." Dean said once it was gone, breaking the silence. Sam let out a long breath, turning to face him. He was dazzled as always by Dean in sun, the light making his eyes greener and tinting his hair golden. "You doing okay?"

"Besides that near-heart attack?" Sam shrugged, finally cracking a smile. "I'm good. Ready to get out of this tree, though."

Dean nodded. "Good. I'm thinking we have a few more scenes to film, just some survival tips. Maybe something later, then the signal fire. We're filming stationary, though."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "It's my camera. I'm pretty sure I'm deciding where it goes."

"Not when your ribs're cracked." Dean yawned, hands stretching above him, showing a sliver of his stomach. Sam readied himself for the anger he was sure would well up inside of him, then paused. It was too early to fight. Besides, his ribs hurt like a mother this morning. "Speaking of…"

Sam didn't even protest as Dean lifted up his shirt, shifting slightly as his fingers grazed bruised flesh. Sure enough, his entire right side was mottled red and purple, tender as the survivalist ran a finger over each rib.

"Well," Sam started. Dean just grinned, amazingly lighthearted about it.

"Stationary camera's the way to go." At Sam's sigh he just smiled wider. "You can always do the leech scene. All we need is a leg, and besides, I need to talk. You can be the injured hero this time."

"Wait, wait." Sam pushed his shirt down. "_Leeches_?"

* * *

"Do not attempt to remove the leech by pulling up by the middle section. Don't use salt, fire or insect repellent either. The first thing you can do is calm down, and sit down. A leech is nothing to freak out about, and not worth contamination."

Sam growled to himself. Said the man without the leech sucking his blood. He grimaced and tried not to look at his leg. The cameraman could feel it wriggling, slimy and not painful, which made it that much weirder.

"Identify the oral sucker first," Dean pointed at the leech from his position right above Sam's leg, gesturing so the camera could see. It was propped up a few feet away on a rock, much to Sam's resentment. "That's the small end. A huge mistake people make is grabbing the bigger end. Place a finger directly adjacent to it and slide towards the feeding site. Do this firmly, but not too strong. And, for God's sake people, don't try to burn it off with a cigarette. The leech could regurgitate and infect you."

Sam's eyes widened as Dean's hand slid across his thigh, squeezing once before he lodged his finger under the sucking leech. With a slow push, the anterior sucker dislodged, its black body wriggling as it tried to reattach. Oh _hell _no.

Thankfully, Dean seemed to be on the same page as Sam. He flicked at the small end, sending short, small jabs at it.

"If you don't get something in quickly enough, the leech may seek to reattach. Continue to flick at the small end and start picking at the larger head." Dean demonstrated, flicking again at the smaller head while he slid another finger towards the front of the leech. "The goal is to make the front sucker lose suction. Leeches contain anticoagulants that—ah. There."

Sam braved another look down as the leech detached, falling to the ground below him. Dean quickly picked it up and threw it into the bushes, his hand still on Sam's thigh. The cameraman flinched as blood began to flow steadily from the wound, sliding down his leg.

"Once the leech is gone, the wound will bleed profusely. Disinfect, bandage, and repeat in a few hours. It should heal up fine within a few days." Dean made a show of looking around, gazing up at the trees. "Keep an eye out for other leeches, however. They track prey through body heat and heart signatures. In a jungle like this, they can find us within a few minutes if we're standing still enough."

Sam paled slightly, imagining leeches dropping out of the trees and sliding towards them like some kind of zombie epic. He resisted the urge to look around him, body suddenly on high alert.

Dean walked over to the camera and flicked it off, coming back to Sam with the small emergency kit he kept in the camera bag. With gentle hands he disinfected Sam's leg, bandaging it up per his instructions.

"So?"

Sam shuddered at the question, boosting himself off the ground. Dean's hand found his lower back, guiding him upwards. "You're getting the leech next time."

"Aww, you're no fun. It's actually kind of interesting."

"Says the guy whose blood wasn't being _sucked out of his leg_."

Dean shrugged, grinning. "Alright. I'll get the vampire worm next time. Happy?"

"Yes." Sam crossed his arms, wincing as it pulled on his ribs. Dean had ripped one of their shirts before they'd started filming, wrapping his torso with an impromptu bandage. "So how are we doing the signal fire scene?"

"Stationary camera with you behind it." Dean replied easily, pointing at a cliff to their left, a few hundred feet away. "I'll get all the materials and meet you there. And don't even _think_ about lifting that camera."

Sam smiled ruefully and trudged over to the rocky cliff, stopping a few safe feet away. He knew Dean's forcefulness were the result of something in his past. He wasn't stupid. The man had good intentions, though, and Sam respected that. He didn't want to break any more ribs either. It fucking hurt, damn it.

A few minutes later Dean hauled over, a pile of branches and fronds in hand, the camera in the other. He easily lifted the weight over to the cliff, carefully placing the camera at Sam's feet and the kindling a few feet away from him. Sam settled the camera into the rocks, nodding as the viewfinder came into focus. He angled Dean's bent-over frame to capture the sun above him, giving a thumbs up before hitting _record_.

"My name is Dean Winchester, and I am about to be rescued from the Guatemalan Jungle."

Sam smiled as Dean struck his flint, sparks flying into the small pile of brush. A fire sprung up a few strikes later, eating up the palm shreds as Dean shoveled the rest of his kindling on top of the blaze. The fire flared into existence, burning a smoky black from the fronds he'd thrown in. A few moments later, and with some extended dialogue from Dean, the sound of chopper blades in the distance sent his heart leaping. Soon, a ladder was descending towards them.

Dean gestured for Sam to go first, frowning and shaking his head when he went for the camera. Sam obliged, turning to grab the ladder and wincing when his ribs pulled. He managed half of the ladder before he had to stop, breathing heavily almost twenty feet in the air.

He startled as a hand rested on the small of his back, gently guiding him upwards. The camera looked down, finding Dean a few rungs below him, the camera slung across his back.

"I got you," The survivalist said, grinning slightly in encouragement. Sam nodded, turning back to the ladder and hoisting himself up another few feet. When they were both in the cabin of the chopper Dean slid the camera off his back, sitting Sam down on one of the seats and checking his ribs.

"You okay?"

Sam squirmed as Dean's fingers brushed his chest. "I'm good."

"Let me check, at least."

He gave in as Dean unwound the makeshift bandage, keeping his face down as the co-pilot watched them with none too little curiosity. His cheeks reddened slightly as Dean finished, wrapping him up again and kissing him soundly on the mouth. "Dean."

"What?"

The helicopter was big, but not that big. "We're not exactly..._alone_."

"Mmf?" Dean kissed up his neck, not even remotely listening. Sam gasped as he hit that spot behind his ear, flushing even further.

"Dean."

The survivalist jumped at the new voice, gently letting Sam go and standing at attention. Sam winced slightly as his chest was jostled, not even attempting to stand as the figure appeared, a shorter woman dressed in khakis and an olive t-shirt. Dean, however, seemed to recognize the woman.

"Ellen."

The woman smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she looked at the two of them.

"Hey, boys."

* * *

A/N Don't forget to leave a review, and let me know what you thought! Thank you so much for reading. The next episode will be set in...The Moab Desert, Utah!


	13. Guatemala: Part Four

A/N Hey guys!

This is a little late (two weeks late). I had all four wisdom teeth out a few days before this was supposed to go up, and I was not prepared for the asskicking that resulted. Let's just say vicodin and writing don't go well together. I had a bad reaction to the painkillers and wasn't able to write for a while. Trust me, I tried.

Nevertheless, here is the long-overdue chapter. To all the people who reviewed and PMed asking where I was; thank you. Super thanks to my beta and LeeMarieJack as well. The first Utah chapter will be up next week! Note: The last scene is loosely inspired by J2's bar fight in season one.

* * *

**December, 2014. Guatemalan Jungle. Helicopter. **

Sam squirmed a little as Dean stood in front of him, uncomfortably awkward as the woman stalked forward. Her arms uncrossed to keep balance, though she didn't seem to need it. The woman raised an eyebrow at the survivalist, who licked his lips obviously, sending a brief glance back to Sam-who just squirmed even more.

"Ellen," Dean drawled over the drone of the helicopter, nodding at the woman like he wasn't struggling to stand. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Cut the shit, boy, and sit down." 'Ellen' said, flicking a glance past Dean's thigh. Sam's eyes widened as Dean was effectively cowed, moving to crouch next to Sam.

"Yes, Ma'am." Dean said, mouthing _save me _to Sam as he turned around. "Ellen-"

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" She interrupted, gesturing at where Sam was still hiding behind Dean.

"Uh, Ellen, this is Sam." The survivalist moved out of the way. "Sam, this is Ellen."

Sam struggled to stand up, halted by a strong hand on his shoulder. Dean stumbled a little with the effort, but kept his eyes on the woman.

"Sam's perfectly fine where he is."

The cameraman rolled his eyes, his ribs throbbing as the helicopter shuddered briefly. If he'd made it through a jungle with cracked ribs, he could stand up one more time, just to be polite. He threw a hand forward, internally surprised at the tight handshake Ellen possessed, his other hand on Dean's shoulder to keep himself upright.

"Sam. Sam Wesson."

Ellen dodged Dean's glare with poise, eyes crinkling at the corners with a surprising warmth as she shook his hand.

"Howdy, Sam. I'm Ellen. Heard a lot about you."

Dean was pouting off to the side, hands twitching like he wanted to interrupt. The survivalist narrowed his eyes at Ellen as she made to move forward, herding Sam back into his seat.

"Yeah? From who?"

Ellen didn't comment as Sam was carefully lowered into the seat, but her eyes caught the gentle caress the survivalist let linger on Sam's ribs.

"Oh, you know. The media. Your manager slash gym-owner. The media again." She crossed her arms again. "You're aware you're on the front page of _Yahoo! _right now, right?"

Sam winced and pinched the bridge of his nose, ducking his head. He could see Dean frowning from the corner of his eye, an irritated look on his face. "Great."

"Yep."

Ellen made a sympathetic noise, moving into the seat next to Sam. He startled as cool fingertips touched his temples, drawing his attention up from the hum of the helicopter around them.

"None of this is your fault, Sam." Dark brown eyes met his, warm and assertive. She ran a motherly hand down his face, smiling and patting his cheek. Strangely, it didn't seem out of character. "You and Dean deserve all the privacy you can get. They're not decent enough humans to respect that."

"Amen." Dean added from his right. His hand brushed the bandages he hadn't managed to undo completely, fingers light "We should get these done, though."

Sam smiled, embarrassed as Dean kissed him lightly on the lips before walking over to the kit in the corner of the cabin. Sam watched as the survivalist found the first aid kit, unwinding a length of bandage with a mushy look on his face. He was probably wearing the same expression, one he would deny later at all costs.

The cameraman couldn't help smiling at that, though. God, when had they gotten so sickeningly cute? Hadn't they just spent their whole jungle trip arguing? Sam shook his head, turning back to Ellen. She was watching them with a soft look in her eyes, leaning against the cabin wall.

"Is that why you're here?" Sam asked, referring to their original conversation, only slightly eager to move the conversation forward and away from their couple-y-ness. "The media, I mean. They're getting bad, then?"

"Bad enough." Ellen nodded, watching approvingly as Dean returned with an instant cold pack, tucking it against Sam's side as he removed the rest of the makeshift bandages. "Nothing I'd worry about, hon, but Castiel and his new partner are playing it safe. I'm just a buffer for the airport, honestly."

"Ain't no one gonna fuck with Ellen," Dean affirmed from the ground next to Sam, a piece of bandage tucked between his lips as he ran his fingers down Sam's side, probing gently. Ellen's eyes narrowed.

"What did you just say?"

Sam had to hold back a surprised bark of laughter as Dean paled, fingers stilling. "Nothing-I said no one's gonna mess with you." He bit his lip, rethinking."Ma'am."

"That's what I thought you said." Ellen's face transformed as she turned back to Sam, mouth turning up in a smile. "But how are you doing, sweetie? Are your ribs okay for the ride back to the airport?"

"I'm okay." Sam glanced out of the window, watching the sun shine down on the treetops far below them. Dean tugged at his t-shirt, lifting it over his head with surprising grace. "I'll take some painkillers once we land. I'm good."

"Like hell," Dean had finished wrapping Sam's sides, handing him back the ice pack. "Sam's finding a bed and we're staying horizontal for a few hours before anything happens."

As if to prove his point, the helicopter chose that moment to jump, shaking the cabin violently enough for Sam to slam into Dean, jarring his ribs and making him cry out. Ellen quickly reached out and braced him between her and Dean, grip tight on his leg. The cameraman tucked his head into Dean's neck, momentarily grateful for the support.

"Hey, Ellen," Dean looked slightly pale when Sam looked up, his smile a little weak. "Hands off my man toy."

Sam made an indignant sound, only to be cut off by Ellen's laugh. He took a deep breath and turned to the woman, face set.

"How about we go back to the hotel for a while, and then get a drink?" The cameraman smiled reassuringly, flashing a wicked set of dimples. "I'd really like to get to know Dean's friends better, and I'm sure I'll be feeling up to it in an hour or two. Right, Dean?"

Ellen glanced at Dean, who was met with a pointed look from Sam. The survivalist's jaw clenched obviously. Sam pulled out the puppy eyes. Dean suddenly reconsidered.

"If he says he's fine, he's fine."

Sam smiled at the small accomplishment, even if he'd had to pry out of Dean like a fingernail. He turned back to Ellen, a smile broad on his face.

"So it's settled then."

Ellen was looking back and forth between the two of them, a smirk on her face. She mouthed _whipped _at Dean like Sam wasn't watching, lips quirking.

"So it is."

Sam decided he liked Ellen.

* * *

**Guatemala City. Hotel.**

Dean watched carefully as Sam made his way into their mostly-unused motel room, climbing onto the king-sized bed with his boots and socks still on. The cameraman popped three Advil, curled up as much as his ribs would allow him, and promptly fell asleep. There wasn't much the survivalist could do but watch in amazement. He supposed going a few days without a bed could do that to a person.

"Well, if that ain't the darned cutest thing I've ever seen."

Dean turned towards Ellen's honey-sweet accent, finding the woman a few inches away from him and leaning on the doorway. He scanned her quickly, relaxing.

"He is," The survivalist agreed. He turned back towards Sam, heart aching as Sam made that snuffling sound, tucking his nose into the pillow like he was six. "He really is."

Ellen looked beyond her years in that moment, gazing at Sam fondly. A touch of sadness colored her expression. Her mouth turned down suddenly, a bitter line forming. Dean felt his stomach drop, spotting the bad news from a hundred miles away.

"What is it?"

She shook her head, nodding at Sam's prone figure. "Not here."

So her visit wasn't just for 'buffering', like she'd told Sam. Dean nodded, gesturing out of the room. He closed the door with a quiet _snick_, Sam's sleeping form burned into his mind. With a quick deadbolt check, he followed Ellen into a private sitting room to the right, just down the hall. He and Sam had made plans to play chess there the first day, but they'd never materialized.

The producer took a long moment before turning around, shoulders setting in a way that made Dean's heart race. The small room barely registered in his mind, his features blurring around Ellen's face.

"Dean,"

"What is it?" The survivalist wasted no time leaping to the question, suspicious. "What's so important you had to come all the way out to Guatemala?"

Ellen hesitated, biting her lip and looking, for the first time he'd ever seen her, unsure.

"It's about Sam. You and Sam."

"What about us?" Dean's voice rose as he closed the space between them. His heart passed racing, skipping straight to full freak-out mode. "Ellen. Tell me."

The other woman's face hardened, willing to take shit from him only to a point. "Take a breath. Castiel sent me. He and Gabriel have been monitoring your names. The media's had a shitfest, especially with Sam, but we thought it was quieting down. Now, though..."

"Obviously you know nothing about them, then." Dean growled. The situation just got worse and worse. "Something changed. Tell me."

"Back off, Soldier." Ellen glanced down at the hand on her shoulder, mouth drawing into a firm line. It took a second for Dean to realize it was his. He removed it, moving backwards like he'd been burned. "Castiel got a note on Friday. He and Gabriel were out, didn't get to see who left it, but the police are tracking the sender down. They left a strongly worded message...and I use that word loosely."

"Threats." Dean felt his blood ran cold. "Against Sam? Me?"

Ellen shook her head. "The two of them were following up on all the media you two've been getting the last few days. Sam's been getting the brunt of it, so-"

"Sam, then." His blood turned boiling, fire racing through his veins. "What did it say?"

Ellen looked away at that, eyes flicking to the floor. Dean's vision went red, the respect he'd built for her over the years the only thing holding him back.

"Ellen."

She wordlessly removed a slip of paper from her pocket, handing it to Dean. He snatched it from her fingertips, scanning it quickly.

_Hey Sammy. Long time no see. _Dean's stomach lurched at the first line, but he quickly read through the rest of it, already knowing the signature he'd see before he reached the bottom. Every line confirmed it.

"Azazel," Dean breathed when he was done, looking up. Ellen met his gaze firmly. "You're kidding. Did anyone think to authenticate this? This has to be a joke."

"There's not much to go on," she said, brushing a hand back through her hair. "The police checked the nearby cameras, interviewed witnesses. Nobody saw anything."

Dean looked down at the paper again, his other hand clenched into a fist. If this was some kid prank...someone was in for a world of hurt.

"Damn it. Damn it. We have to get somewhere safe. I gotta get Sam out of here."

Ellen's hand stopped him from moving, slamming with surprising strength into his shoulder.

"Wait a moment, Winchester. Think about it." She herded him back into the sitting room with a well-aimed push. "This is one of the safest places you could be. Nobody knows you're filming here but me and Castiel. Don't rush into any decisions. We're not even sure the threat is real."

"What am I supposed to do then, Ellen?" The survivalist growled, turning and waving the paper in her face. "Crawl into bed and pretend someone doesn't want to kill my-my-" he fumbled for the right word. "-kill Sam?"

"As far as the public is concerned, you're off filming somewhere else." Ellen said, mouth set in her _take no shit _position. "We can't stop the attention once you fly to Utah, but Novak is throwing something together. You'll have protection."

"We can't _keep _filming!" Dean exclaimed, livid. "Are you insane? I'm taking Sam somewhere safe until the police nab this guy and we're hunkering down."

Ellen's face darkened, the edge of pity in her eyes disappearing.

"You're going to Utah on schedule. I'm sorry. I can't change that without serious proof that something will happen. The network won't allow it."

"This isn't enough?" Dean waved the letter in her face. His heart was pounding. He needed to get back to Sam right now. "Jesus, Ellen."

"You are still currently bound under contract to continue unless injured." The producer's words stopped him cold. He turned to her, surprised at her rank-pulling. "If this is an issue with bringing your cameraman with you, then I'm sorry. You can find a new one after this. But you and Sam are in Utah next week."

"What the fuck?" Dean said.

"Watch your fucking mouth, Winchester."

There was a tense moment where Dean actually considered lashing out, a rush of shame following it. He held his tongue, breathing heavily until even Ellen backed off.

"Tell me..." He licked his lips, taking another breath. "Tell me about the security you're putting in place."

Ellen took the conceding for what it was worth, nodding at him. "We're installing two security agents to travel with you to Utah once we reach LAX. They'll be present for some, maybe all of the filming."

"Who?" Dean growled.

"Benny Lafitte." Ellen said. "I assume you've met. He's got a good security business up and running now. He called in personally."

_Benny_, Dean thought. "And the other guard?"

"His protegé. Swears by him, so we're going with it. There will be complete privacy, or as much as we can accomplish on the way to Utah. Honestly, the worst part is going to be the airports."

"I can handle that," Dean ran a hand through his hair, pausing. "What I really want to know is what you're doing beside that."

Ellen met his stare evenly. "As I said, the police are looking into things. There's not much we can do with one written threat, though. We're doing the best we can, Dean. But I don't think there's enough to worry about right now. I really don't."

It was the first time she'd said his name, and that revealed the gravity of the situation. Dean plastered a fake smile on his face, nodding along with her as he made plans in the back of his head.

"I'm sure you're right," He gestured at the door, shoulders shrugging. "I'm going to head back, check on Sam."

The woman checked her watch, nodding. "Are we still going out for drinks?"

"I'll ask Sam."

"Awesome. I'll be in the lobby."

She left the room, forgetting the letter Dean still held in his hand. With a grimace he took out his lighter, walking over to the fireplace with the letter in hand. A quick click from the lighter and the thin paper caught, flames licking up the letter until the words charred. He dropped it into the hearth, heart pounding in his chest.

* * *

Sam woke up just as Dean was entering their hotel room, rolling over as much as his ribs would allow so he could smile at the other man. The survivalist looked stressed, a dark look in his eyes as he closed the door behind him.

"Hey."

Dean's face dropped the brooding look instantly, face crinkling into a smile.

"Hey."

Sam shifted slightly as Dean changed course, heading for their bed. The other man slid onto the bed, kicking his boots off until he was curled up around Sam, socked feet brushing his calves.

"You have a good nap?"

The cameraman wrinkled his nose, but he was smiling. "Yeah. I did. You talk to Ellen?"

"Oh, we caught up." Dean slung a possessive arm over Sam's chest, avoiding his ribs. "I missed you."

Sam snorted. "You were twenty feet away."

"Can't do this when you're that far away," Dean whined, pushing a hand into Sam's hair and pulling him close, breathing the scent of him. Sam shuddered, leaning in. "Mmph."

"Ellen still up for drinks?" Sam said as a way of distracting himself, groaning as Dean slid butterfly kisses up his neck. "Hey. This show's gonna be over soon if you keep doing that."

"I must not be doing my job well enough." The other man grinned, gently flipping Sam onto his back, teeth flashing in the twilight from outside. "You're so beautiful."

Sam felt a blush run through his skin, but he wasn't so easily put off. This wasn't twilight. "I bet you tell all your girls that."

Dean grinned again, flicking Sam's shoulder. "Only one."

"Shut up," Sam smacked him on the arm, offended. He made to move off the bed. "I'm gonna go find Ellen. At least _she_ doesn't insult my masculinity on a regular basis."

"N-"

To say Sam was surprised when Dean actually shot off the bed was an understatement. The survivalist let barely an inch of space pass between them. His confusion solidified as the other man kept a possessive hand at his back, pressing there like he was about to fall over and break. (Which Sam most definitely was not, seeing as he wasn't china, or, you know, pregnant)

"I think I saw a place a couple blocks away," Sam said to break the suddenly awkward silence, bending over to adjust his shoes (still on his feet). Dean slid his feet into his boots without taking his eyes away from Sam, deftly tying the laces with one hand. "You ready to go?"

What he really meant was _are you okay?_

Dean grinned just a little too wide, sliding a hand up his back. "Sure babe. Let's go."

* * *

The bar was nice and quiet, tucked into a small corner a half mile or so away from the hotel. The wooden floors were worn, though clean, smoothed by the years of feet tracking across its surface. The private booths were separated by dividers, circling around the long, old-fashioned wooden bar in the middle. Workmen just finishing the day were trickling in as they entered, wearing sweat-stained wife beaters and t-shirts, faces weary. Soft Spanish was spoken over the radio in the corner, fluid mumbles of men and women in a world of their own.

Sam followed Dean to a booth in the back, gently nudging Ellen in front of him. They walked, sandwiched, over to the leather-lined seats. Sam sat down gratefully, rubbing the smoothed, thinned material between his fingers.

A waitress walked by a second later, pad in hand as she cracked her gum. Sam smiled to himself. Some thing didn't change across country lines.

"_Tres cervezas, por favor," _he said, gesturing at the group. Dean nodded at his decent-enough spanish, leaning back and surveying the room. Ellen subtly adjusted her t-shirt, pulling it up and setting her face into a mask of indifference.

"So, Ellen," Sam broke the silence, leaning forward. "How'd you meet Dean?"

The woman let out a chuckle, tipping her head back. Dean began to blush furiously. "Oh boy."

* * *

They talked for almost an hour, mixing beers with small shots of the local drink, something sweet and honeyed Sam couldn't make out. As stern as Ellen appeared to be, her laughter slipped out more often than not as she shared stories of a younger Dean, even bringing up an old photo of the survivalist. They matched shot for shot as the cameraman watched on, captivated. Sam found that he agreed, no, frosted tips were not sexy, even on Dean. He was surprised, however, to find a picture with something a lot more interesting in it.

"You wear glasses?" Sam exclaimed over their third beer, incredulous. Dean's arm was slung around his shoulders, fingers playing with the curls in his hair. At his question the survivalist ducked his head. "No, really. Why aren't you wearing them?"

Dean shot him a sheepish look. "I really only need them for reading. It's not a big deal."

"So do you have a pair with you?"

Ellen snorted from across the table, watching Sam bounce up and down. "C'mon, Winchester. Show him."

Dean's face was a pleasant shade of red as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a slim, black case. He opened it, revealing a modern-looking pair. Sam held back a gasp as the other man slowly slid them on. Yep. Boom. He was hooked.

"What?" Dean asked when he didn't say anything, blush increasing. "Do I look stupid? Don't answer that. I look stupid."

Sam was speechless. The room was suddenly very warm.

"You know what, I'm taking them off-"

"Don't," Sam breathed, grabbing his arm to stop him. He heard Ellen giggle off to his left, the sound barely registering. "You're not taking them off. Ever."

Dean's eyes widened. Sam swore he saw his pupils dilate. They stared at each other, Sam running his tongue along the edge of his bottom lip. Ellen coughed suddenly, breaking the moment.

"I'll be-I'm gonna go to the bathroom." Dean stood up suddenly, still a little dazed looking. Sam brushed his hand against the other man as he stood up, heat curling through him. He watched as the other man ducked into the shadows of the bar, turning into a dark hallway to their left where the bathrooms were.

"Well, damn." Ellen was still looking at him when he turned around, face reddening. "That's a first."

"First time what?"

"First time I've ever seen that boy blush." Ellen clarified, flashing Sam a smile. "You sure are something, kid. He used to stab people who embarrassed him."

"...Thanks?" He mumbled, unsure how to take that. A group of guys stumbled into the bar a moment later, sending a bubble of sound their way. "I'm sure he's just tired. Jungles are tough."

"Mhhmmm." Ellen said, skeptical. "You keep telling yourself that. I'm just saying-and don't you dare repeat this-it's the happiest I've seen him in...well, I'd say in forever."

Sam felt a piece of him melt at the cliched line. It just sort of seemed genuine coming from Ellen, who'd matched Dean shot for shot and was still standing. (He really had to get Dean to stop challenging people to drinking dares)

The men from before walked by, one of them sending Ellen a none too innocent stare as they settled in a booth a few feet away. Sam watched carefully as the man stood a few moments later, 'brushing' by where Ellen was sitting on the edge of the booth. Bloodshot eyes and a sickly sweet smell told Sam what he'd been doing a few moments before.

"_Chingatos_," the man called out, waving at Ellen. "_Esta es la chica. Cavrona,_" He addressed Ellen this time, leaning in woozily, making a grab for her arm. "You remember me, bitch?"

Sam caught his hand before it could touch her, reaching across the table and wincing as the motion pulled at his ribs. "Back off."

"Pinche," the man violently twisted out of his hold. "You get the _fuck_ off me."

"Leave," Sam ordered, standing to point at the door. Ellen subtly moved closer to the inside of the booth, ready to stand at Sam's side. "Now."

The man grinned, revealing yellow teeth as he waved back at his friends. "This bitch man think he so strong, eh? Fuck you!"

Sam barely had time to duck as the man's fist sailed towards his head, avoiding the punch, only to be hit by another in the solar plexus. The cameraman wheezed out a groan, getting his hands up to block the next hit just in time.

All hell broke loose as Ellen tackled the man, swinging her heavy-bottomed beer glass across his cheekbone. The rowdy men two booths down spilled into the center of the bar, five of them circling a still-wheezing Sam.

He got into fighting position, dodging a poorly executed kick from the first man and slamming him into a table with a small push to his power back. The second man swung hard, barely missing his face as Sam spun, sending a punch of his own back. The two other men got a hold on Sam's shoulders, yanking him backwards so the fifth man had an open target. Sam kicked up, grateful for his long legs as his boot connected with the man's jaw, a disturbingly loud _crack_ splitting the air.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ellen take one of the men on him down. He dispatched his man, the two of them pairing up to eliminate the rest. Sam relaxed, turning to ask Ellen if she was okay. He didn't notice the fist until it slammed into his ribs, pushing the breath from his lungs.

Instant pain exploded in his side. He crumpled, a strangled scream escaping his lips as fire burned through his chest.

* * *

Dean was exiting the bathroom when he heard the distinct sound of a chair toppling to the ground, then a garbled yell as more thuds sounded. He sprinted back towards the bar, watching in disbelief as chaos enfolded in front of him. He flung the glasses to the side, catching just the barest hint of irony as he ran in to help.

Sam and Ellen were back to back in front of three guys, Ellen wielding a broken glass and Sam nothing but his fists. The cameraman moved quicker than he would've thought possible, slinging a punch sent his way up and out of his face before sending one plowing back, taking the guy off his feet.

Ellen took another one down with her glass, slashing across the man's shoulder with enough force to send him to the ground. Sam looked relieved, not seeing the third man and turning to look at Ellen. His lips moved soundlessly, the hit moving in slow motion as it careened towards his chest. Without a second thought he picked up one of the bar stools, swinging it harder than anything he'd done in his life, aiming for the man's head.

It landed just a moment too late, Dean watching in horror as the man's fist connected with Sam's cracked ribs, drawing a shout of agony from the cameraman. A sickening crunch reverberated in his ear as the metal stool Dean swung connected with the man's head, shoving him up and over the bar. Dean ran to Sam, throwing a hand out to catch him just as he crumpled to the floor.

"Sam!"

* * *

A/N Leave a review, and let me know what you thought! I will have the first Moab Desert chapter up next week. Are you as excited as I am? ;)


	14. Moab Desert: Part One

A/N Hey guys! Here is the next chapter, as promised. According to Bear Grylls, Dean is supposed to pee on his shirt and wrap it around his face in the desert. Going with my gut, I've decided not to include that bit. (Sorry)

Super thanks to everyone who reviewed, and my beta. I hope you enjoy this (pee-free!) chapter.

* * *

Gabriel watched carefully as the terminal doors opened, travelers and businessmen spilling from the small walkway that attached to the plane. Castiel mirrored his pose, both of them ducking surreptitiously behind a column. Their eyes were fixed on the swarming mass of media to their left.

"You see them?" Castiel asked. He was taller than the gold-eyed man, but not by much. Neither of them could see anything.

Gabriel shook his head. "No. Keep looking."

The group of media professionals was a rag-tag group of snotty blonde reporters and some bored looking cameramen standing next to a group of seats a few meters away. Fortunately for them, the media couldn't know which exit Dean and Sam were supposed to take-only that it was one of the seven in the terminal. A strange murmur had already descended on the long hallway, people staring and pointing, aware that something was about to happen.

"There." Gabriel said suddenly, jostling Castiel's shoulder in his haste, pointing at the door. "The two figures at the back."

Ellen appeared at the mouth of the hallway as he said it, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt. Behind her were two men wearing college-esque hoodies, hoods drawn over their heads. Gabriel caught a glimpse of longer hair shoved up into a beanie, identifying Sam as the slightly taller one to the left. Dean, ever so slightly bowlegged, had to be the other man.

He turned to find Castiel peering at the reporters, both of them watching with bated breath, wondering if they'd catch on. Ellen quickly but calmly split off from the group, taking Sam with her. The two of them began to hold hands, Sam ducking his head as Dean walked in the opposite direction, just a few feet away from where he and Castiel were standing.

"Is Sam alright?" Castiel whispered to him, casting a glance towards where the younger man had disappeared with Ellen. Gabriel caught a glimpse of the pair to his right. Sam was hunched over, favoring his left side; was it all an act, or could the younger man really be injured?

"Get Dean," He whispered back in answer, moving to step away from the column. "Wait twenty seconds after me, then tail him. We've got the car in back, remember. I'll grab Ellen and Sam."

Castiel nodded, blue eyes wide with what they were doing. Gabriel steeled himself, then stepped into the flow of people around him.

* * *

Sam and Ellen were sitting on a bench in the shadows of the parking lot when Gabriel caught up, two bags laid at their feet. Gabriel instantly gravitated towards Sam, his anxiety flaring as he spotted the younger man bent over, hands brushing his chest.

"Ellen," He said, sending a brief nod at the woman. Sam smiled at him, but the effort was wasted as he winced, grabbing again at his side. What looked like bruises peppered his fists, tiny cuts still red and angry looking.

"Kiddo," Gabriel clucked his tongue, smirking to hide his worry. He knelt next to the bench, as if tying a shoestring. "I hope the other guy looks worse."

"Bar fight," Sam muttered, half sullen, half adorable, positive puppy he was at heart. "It's not-not as bad as it looks."

Ellen sent him a contrasting shake of her head, mouthing the word later at him. She put a motherly hand on Sam's thigh.

"Considering Dean nearly killed the other guy with a chair, I'm guessing he's looking a lot worse right now."

"A chair?"

"Technically, it was a bar stool." Sam smiled slightly, half a set of dimples appearing. The expression dropped from his face a second later, devolving into a pout. "Dean. I miss Dean."

"He had a tough time with the plane...especially since him and loverboy couldn't sit together." Ellen explained as Sam continued to pout, sighing good-naturedly. "That was a fun flight."

Gabriel smirked. "Oh, I bet. Where is Deano, anyway?"

"Taking a couple of shortcuts, then he's gonna meet us here." Sam winced again at the effort of speaking, sending alarm bells off in Gabriel's head. Now that he was a little closer, he could see a smattering of bruises on the kid's face, hidden by the oversized sweater and beanie. The cameraman ducked away as his fingers skimmed the bruised skin, flinching from the motion.

"I see," Gabriel said, stepping back. Ellen gestured over his shoulder, nodding off into the distance. He turned to see Castiel escorting Dean down the sidewalk, heads ducked close together, the two of them in a heated discussion. Dean waved his hand angrily. only to be cut off by the other man.

"Gabriel," Castiel greeted him when they walked up, placing a hand up as Dean attempted to speak over his greeting. "Sam. It is good to see you again. Ellen."

Sam waved, sending a weak smile his way. "Hey, Cas."

Dean seemed to snap out of his funk the second he saw Sam, eagerly rushing over to his side. He knelt on the cold sidewalk, kissing the cameraman lightly on the lips. Gabriel politely looked away, only to spot Castiel staring at the action. Ellen was similarly entranced, a slight curve to her lips.

"Hey," Dean said.

Sam smiled, a flash of white teeth in the darkness. "Hey."

"Well, isn't that nice." Gabriel clapped his hands together, spinning on his heel. "I hate to ruin the moment, but the longer we're out in the open…"

"Let's go," Dean said, standing up and holding a hand out to Sam. Ellen hovered behind him, ready to offer assistance as he boosted Sam up.

They loaded the boys into the car they'd parked earlier, hidden in the back corner of the parking lot. Ellen sat shotgun while Dean drove, Sam laid carefully in the backseat. Gabriel closed the door with a worried frown, waving Winchester off and taking a step back.

"What were you and Dean talking about earlier?" He queried, looking to Castiel as the car disappeared down the street. He put a hand on the other man's shoulder, moving them off the road and onto the sidewalk.

"Sam's injuries, for one." Castiel sighed, leaning into Gabriel's arm., laying his head there. "We should call for a cab."

"What's the damage?" Gabriel asked, already thumbing through his contacts on his phone. He selected the local taxi service, pressing _send_ on the keypad. The responding text asked for an address, which he quickly typed in. "I got 'bar fight' out of him, but not much more than that."

"Apparently Sam rose to defend Ellen's honor in Guatemala in a bar they were drinking in," Castiel said. "Sam had already bruised or cracked his ribs while they were shooting."

"What? How?"

"Saving Dean and himself in a situation, something dealing with a cave." Castiel shrugged. "You'll have to review the footage later. All I know is that Sam was injured in the process, but that he saved Dean's life."

"And the bar fight just topped it off." Gabriel shook his head, taking in the situation. "He gonna be okay? Do I need to go threaten someone into going to the hospital?"

"You know Dean. If Sam's involved, he'll make sure.'"Cas said. "They're supposed to go home, take a day or two off before they go back to shooting. I don't know what that means for healing cracked ribs, but Ellen's pushing the contract." There was obvious tension in Novak's shoulders. "That's what we were arguing about. Dean wants out of the Utah shoot, but the higher-ups won't budge."

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "And Ellen showed him the note?"

Castiel nodded, his face a mask. "He is angry. He has a right to be. Ellen wouldn't be forcing this if it wasn't a bad situation-or one that's increasingly getting worse."

Gabriel spotted a pair of headlights off to the west, raising his hand so the cabbie saw him. "You think the police have something they're hiding."

"I'm not saying that."

"But you're thinking it."

The cab edged towards them, coasting to a stop at the side of the curb. Gabriel broke the momentary silence as they walked towards the vehicle.

"Laffite still meeting them tomorrow?"

Castiel's eyes were a vivid blue in the cab's headlights. "As far as I am aware, yes. He should be around by noon. I gave him Sam's address, I hope you don't mind."

"No." Gabriel nodded, in agreement. "They can settle in, try and get comfy. Our hands are tied until something new develops, or until Ellen gets the stick out of her ass." He opened the door for his partner, an oddly intimate gesture as they both folded into the cab (Gabriel not so much). He gave his address to the driver and turned back to Novak. "I didn't mean that."

"I am worried as well." Castiel admitted, mouth edged with lines. "This-_Azazel_-is either a myth or a reality. This all could just be a cruel joke. But I'm not sure."

"We have to take it seriously." Gabriel murmured, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind Castiel's ear. "But there's nothing we can do, Cas. Just be brave, and be there for them."

Castiel nodded, curling up under his arm, tucking his nose into Gabriel's neck. "They have each other, as well."

Gabriel smiled, envisioning the pair's arrival at Sam's apartment. He cringed as the image preceded without his approval, trying not to envision what happened next. His smile persisted.

"That they do."

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Sam and Dean were not wrapped around each other, sucking face in Sam's apartment. The two of them entered the apartment wearily, tired and strung out from the day of travel.

Sam sighed as he fell against the mattress, arching his back slowly to relieve the pressure in his ribs. The two advil he'd popped in the car on the way home were just starting to kick in. He heard Dean bustling around in the kitchen, too lazy to move, though he was still wired from the time difference. He bet Dean was too.

"You got ice packs?" the survivalist called out from the kitchen. A crash sounded a moment later, making Sam wince.

"Bottom shelf of the freezer." He shouted back. Dean made a triumphant noise a second later, walking into their bedroom with a blue ice pack in hand.

"There you go."

Sam smiled as the other man climbed into bed with him, placing the ice pack against his side with extreme care. He nudged his head as far as it would go, laying it on Dean's chest.

"Hey," the survivalist ran his fingers through Sam's hair, eliciting an obscene noise from the cameraman. "You need anything?"

Sam began to shake his head, entirely content-until a thought popped into his head.

"Actually, there was something you could do for me."

Dean practically leaped to the opportunity, almost jostling Sam. "What is it?"

Sam snickered, looking up to see an eager smile spread across his lover's face. Embarrassment finally kicked in over the jetlag. "I don't know if you'd want to…"

"I'm open to anything." Dean assured him, fingers returning to their place in his hair, brushing his temples and sending sparks across his body. "What is it? Tell me."

"It's stupid."

"Sam."

The cameraman blushed at Dean's tone, ducking his head. "Alright, alright. I'll tell you."

Silence.

"Sam?"

A long pause. "I'm thinking of a way to phrase it that doesn't sound creepy."

"I'm waiting." The survivalist sighed. "You're lucky you're cute."

"Fine. Will you…" Sam swallowed, resisting the urge to lick his lips. "Will you put your glasses back on?"

"_That's _what this is about?"

Dean's exclamation came with an increasing blush, until they were both red-faced with embarrassment. Sam directed his puppy-dog eyes the survivalist's way, pleading.

"Please. You looked so cute before."

The survivalist snorted, affronted. "Shut up. I'm not supposed to look cute."

"Pleeeeeaaassssssse?"

Sam bit his lip, watching Dean fight with himself.

"It would make me feel better."

Dean swore, launching off the bed. Sam smiled to himself as the other man rummaged in his bag, face bright red. He returned a moment later with the frames in his hands, something Sam could only describe as a pout on his face.

"Here."

Sam took the frames from him, moving them towards the other man's face. Dean ducked, sliding onto the bed.

"You're supposed to _wear_ them, doofus."

"Don't need 'em." Dean grunted into a pillow, muffled. "I can see fine."

"You're acting like a teenage girl," Sam pointed out, waving the pair of glasses towards the survivalist. "Where's the guy who jumps off volcanoes for fun? I want him back."

"Shut up." Dean pulled his face away from the pillow, sitting up and snatching the glasses from Sam. With a small wince he shoved them on, blinking as he adjusted to the new focus. Sam's breath caught.

"No," Dean warned, shaking a hand his way. "Do _not_ make that face at me. These are not staying on. They're going off in ten seconds, understand?"

"But-but-" Sam bit his lip, reaching out. God, did Dean look good in the glasses. His hair was rumpled from where he'd shoved his face into the pillow, blonde tufts sticking every which way. The dark, slim frames accentuated the color of his eyes, giving his face a handsome, alluring feel. (Not that his face wasn't already the hottest thing Sam had ever seen) "I really like them."

"They're not practical."

Sam frowned. "They are if you want to see. What are you, near-sighted?"

The survivalist shuffled a little, self-conscious. "Far-sighted. Just a little. I have to use them for reading and...stuff."

Sam got a sudden image of Dean wearing the glasses doing something that was most definitely not reading, blinking it away before he started drooling. He smiled at the other man, oddly touched that he'd even put them on at all. They obviously bothered him.

"Thanks for...you know, doing that." Sam brushed his hand down Dean's face, pulling him back down to the pillow. "C'mon. Let's get whatever sleep we can manage tonight."

Dean was smiling softly in spite of his blush, nodding along with his words. He got up to check the windows and doors, tracing a semi-familiar path through Sam's apartment as the cameraman kicked his shoes, suddenly too tired to do much more than lay there. Dean returned a few minutes after that, curling up, warm and safe around Sam.

* * *

Benny Laffite rang the small doorbell to the apartment, stepping back to parade rest next to Brady. The younger man was jumpy with excitement,

barely-contained nerves obvious in his stance. Benny sent the kid a warning glance, who quickly fell in line next to his mentor. After some shuffling, someone appeared behind the door.

"Name." The person grunted from the mail slot. Benny heard a slight tap, like he'd placed a gun barrel against the wood of the door.

"Benny Laffite and Tyson Brady."

The door cracked open, revealing a shirtless Dean Winchester, bleary-eyed with a gun to the door.

"Benny?"

A grin split his face as Winchester unlocked the door, gesturing them in. Benny was pulled into a back-breaking hug, back thumped repeatedly by the older man.

"Hey, Winchester." Benny said, disentangling himself, still smiling. It was good to see old friends. "How's the good life treating you?"

"Fuck off," Winchester said good-naturedly, slamming him on the shoulder. "How's being a bodyguard? Feel good to be a bitch again?"

Brady let out a snort next to him, immediately straightening when Benny turned to glare at him. Winchester followed his gaze, green eyes sharp as ever. He looked good for his age; the best Benny had ever seen him, at least. He was sporting a pair of crows' feet at the corner of each eye, but they looked more like smile lines than age and wear.

"Fuck off," Benny added the bookend to their conversation, turning to Brady. "Tyson, meet Dean Winchester, the smartest marine I ever met."

"Brady," the kid said, wide-eyed as he threw a hand forward, Winchester meeting him halfway. They shook rigorously, Brady trying too hard and Winchester's amusement at that barely noticeable in the quirk of his lips.

"Dean." The survivalist nodded at the kid, stepping back. He looked at Benny. "I'm guessing this isn't a social call. Ellen said you were coming; I just didn't know when."

"We're with you for the next two weeks or so. You leave in a few days for the Moab, so the network's having us get comfortable." Benny poked his head around Winchester's shirtless torso, eyeing the door behind him. "Speaking of. Where's your better half?"

Dean's face tightened, but his smile flickered back to life a second later. "Resting. I don't think we should bother-"

"Dean?"

Benny raised his eyebrows as a tall, slim kid walked into the room, all tanned skin and lithe muscles. He wore a pair of boxers and a sheet, the white material an almost beautiful contrast to his skin. Tip-tilted hazel eyes peered out from layered bangs, oddly expressive in their intensity. He smiled, revealing a pair of dimples as he realized they had company.

"Sam?" He guessed, waving. "I'm Benny. This is Brady. We're friends of Dean's."

Winchester didn't seem pleased he'd stolen the introduction, quickly tucking the gun into his waistband. His disapproval vanished as Sam came further into the room. Without a care for their audience, he pulled the taller man into a quick kiss, drawing a surprised squeak from the kid. Benny coughed as the kiss descended into tongue, then tonsil hockey. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam."

The kid was bright red, but polite enough to nod. "Likewise. I didn't know Dean had this many friends."

"Hey!" Winchester actually looked affronted, though his lips were quirking into a smile.

"Sorry!" Sam blushed bright red, waving his left arm in a desperate attempt to refute his words. "I didn't mean it like that! Shut up!" He smacked Dean, surprising Benny as the ex-marine allowed it.

"Benny and Brady are coming with us to Utah Thursday," Dean said, wincing at the shot the kid had landed on his arm. "He works in the personal protection business."

Sam's laughing expression dropped. He turned to Dean.

"Bodyguards. Why do we need bodyguards?"

Benny smiled tightly, sending a glare Winchester's way. Apparently someone hadn't come clean yet. "I'm sure it's just a network precaution, what with the attention y'all have been getting lately."

The kid looked at him skeptically, and Benny got the impression he wouldn't be able to pull much wool over his eyes at all. "I'm...sure that's it. Sorry. I was just surprised."

Winchester winced as Benny's glare landed on him, putting on a smile for Sam's benefit. He turned to the taller man, tugging on the bed sheet still wrapped around his chest.

"Your ribs doing okay?"

Sam shrugged, opening the sheet to reveal his chest. Bruises littered the skin of his right side, dark purple in some places, green and yellow in others. It looked extremely painful at best. What the hell was Winchester putting his cameraman through, anyway?

"Yeah," Sam said dismissively, pulling the sheet closed. "I was just about to get some more ibuprofen."

"Why don't you go do that?" Winchester suggested lightly, turning and fixing his impressive stare on Brady. "I'm sure Tyson would like to know the layout of the house, too."

Brady took the dismissal for what it was, walking over to where Sam stood. They disappeared into the kitchen, only the echo of an introduction reaching back to Benny.

"I'm Brady."

"Sam-"

Benny turned to find Winchester glaring at where Brady had disappeared with Sam, face tight with an emotion he refused to name. He rapped the other man lightly on the arm, drawing his back his attention.

"Hey, it was your idea." He said, gesturing at the kitchen. "You're getting pissy in your old age, Winchester."

"Fuck off," Winchester said, turning to glare at him instead. "I know, I know.

"You didn't tell him yet?" Benny asked, incredulous. "How the hell am I supposed to explain us being here?"

"Exactly the way you did," Winchester growled, turning to grab a sweatshirt from the couch behind them. He shrugged it on, tension evident in his shoulders. "I'm doing this my way. Friendship's one thing, Laffite, but if you screw this up for me, I swear to god…"

"You'll what?' Benny shook his head. "Dean. You're not protecting him by doing this. You're blinding him."

"Since when did you get all judgemental? When did this become a shitty B- action film, anyway?" Winchester asked. "Do your job. Don't criticize mine."

Benny looked on at his friend with a mix of emotion and respect, nodding at the order. "Fine. So what's your plan?"

"You'll work with buffering in the airport, and then transportation to the Moab. At that point, I'm guessing you'll camp out near our starting point and we'll radio you in when we're about to settle down for the night."

"Absolutely not," Benny set his hand down on the table to his left, emphasizing his point. "I want you in sight at all times."

"No. Not gonna work."

Benny was about to smack the love-stricken idiot. "Winchester."

"Then you're staying out of Sam's shots," the survivalist said. "No noise, no complaining. You think you can keep up?"

Benny laughed out loud at that, clapping a surprised Dean on the shoulder.

"Just like old times, man."

* * *

"I don't think they're cracked, Dean."

"Sam."

"No, really. I looked it up. They're only cracked if you have trouble breathing. I don't."

"Half of your body is purple."

"Not anymore!"

A long-suffering sigh sounded.

"Look, they wouldn't let me go if I was actually hurt, right? The network has some policy-hey!

"See, that hurt!"

"Don't _poke_ me!"

"I'm just proving that it hurt!"

"It did! Jesus Christ. I'm not sitting next to you anymore. Benny!"

Benny groaned internally, glancing at the backseat in his rearview mirror. Sam was sending a truly impressive pout his way, the puppy-dog eyes he'd been warned about out in full force,

"Yes, Sam?" He asked politely.

"I don't want to sit next to Dean anymore," the kid crossed his arms, scooting away from the survivalist in emphasis. "Can I switch shotgun with Brady?"

Brady paled from his position in the front seat, sending Benny a desperate glance. Benny sighed, wondering why he'd ever thought this was a good idea.

"Dean, stop annoying Sam. Sam, sit farther away if you don't want Dean to poke you." He sighed, turning the car down yet another dirt road. "If you actually looked out your window, you'd see the Canyonlands national park on your right."

Sam made a surprised sound, pushing his head against the window as far as it would go. Dean reluctantly looked over his shoulder, eyes widening at the beautiful view.

"That's actually really cool."

Sam nodded his assent, awestruck. He sent a smile Benny's way, nearly blinding him in the rearview mirror. Jesus, these two were gonna be the death of him.

* * *

A/N I know, shortie! Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought? They'll be in the thick of it next Friday! ;)


	15. Moab Desert: Part Two

A/N Thank you so much for the reviews and comments! Here is the Moab chapter. I hope you enjoy. Next chapter will be up soon!

* * *

The drive to Canyonlands from the Salt Lake City Airport was long at best, stretching into the evening hours as the sun dipped behind the impressive horizon. Sam and Dean quit fooling around when the sun began to set, instead curling up in each other's arms as the magnificent sunset colored the sky a bright red. Benny caught Brady looking back at them more than once, a strange expression on his face.

He piloted the car into the small, out-of-the-way motel they had made quiet reservations at, nodding at Brady as he stopped the car and got out. Sam was asleep in Dean's arms in the backseat, snoring softly into his partner's shoulder. Benny smiled to himself, shaking his head as he exited the car. He returned a few moments later with two room keys, handing one to a hypervigilant Dean and pocketing the other.

"You have room 12," he murmured, careful to keep his voice low. The survivalist nodded, shifting Sam slightly. The sleeping man tipped onto Dean, dead weight not fazing the shorter man. He grabbed the key, tucking it between his teeth as he tried to maneuver Sam out of the car.

"D'n?"

Benny held his arms out as Sam stirred, ready to catch the other man if he fell. The cameraman stood suddenly, nearly throwing Dean off balance as he tumbled to the side. It was the tiniest bit cute, not that Benny would ever admit that out loud.

"I'm right here," Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder, pulling him back into his chest. "Here. Look, let's get inside, huh?"

The cameraman nodded into his neck, dazed. "Yeh…"

Brady stepped forward, making to grab Sam's other shoulder and walk him to the room. A glare from Dean sent him backpedaling.

Benny grabbed the idiot kid by the collar and pulled him towards their room, already planning on giving him first watch. He sent Winchester a quick look, only to be met with the other man's back, struggling to keep Sam upright and too stubborn to ask for help. Ah, well.

He'd stay awake too, though. Couldn't be too safe.

* * *

Dean whistled the entire drive to canyon lands the next morning, alternating between flicking Sam's hair and pushing his head out the window like a dog. Sam sighed more than a dozen times during the trip, but there was something catchy about the survivalist's mood. He started to feel it in his bones-the sensation of new terrain waiting to be tackled, new earth broken underneath their footsteps.

He'd tested his strength before they left, hoisting the camera up and over his shoulder a few times in their motel room. His ribs twinged throughout the minor workout, but the pain wasn't unbearable. He'd be able to do enough to get the job done, and that was what really counted.

Or, according to Dean, his safety was the number one concern-and _that _was a whole new can of worms. Sam wasn't stupid enough to let their new additions pass unnoticed. Suddenly getting bodyguards right before their next trip? Dean suddenly being mysteriously clingy (he didn't want to say it) and antsy? It added up to something, that was for sure.

But Sam out his game face on, staring the Moab down with some trepidation. He'd never been in the desert before, but he had netflix. The Moab, famous for its arches and canyons, was where 127 Hours, the movie, was filmed. It was also where the story behind it had actually occurred.

That scared Sam just the tiniest bit. He couldn't imagine being trapped and alone like that-he didn't _want_ to imagine it. It made him want to tuck his hands into Dean' belt buckle and hold on tight.

Suddenly, Benny and Brady's presence didn't alarm him so much. The desert was dangerous after all; they were just taking precautions. God knows they didn't need another one of them injured.

In classic Man Vs Wild fashion, they boarded a small helicopter a few miles into the Moab, cramming Sam, Dean, Benny and Brady into the small cargo space. Sam's cameras and a small emergency bag (to be carried by Benny at all times) topped it off, leading to a very cramped cabin. Sam felt awkward tucked between Dean and Brady, but didn't mention it.

God, was the view beautiful, however. The morning sky was a fierce blue, burning through Sam's hand as he lifted it to shade his eyes. He pulled the lens back a little, focusing it on Dean. The survivalist was balanced precariously on the helicopter's edge, languid grace apparent in how easy he made it appear. (Sam would be shitting his pants if he had to stay out there longer than it took to fling himself away from the helicopter, that was for sure)

"My name is Dean Winchester, and I'm about to be dropped into the Moab Desert."

Sam gave him their now routine 'okay, you can do your fancy backflip and I'll follow you' sign, (also known as a thumbs up) followed by a lip quirk from Dean. In a beautiful shot, the survivalist flung himself backwards, hurtling gracefully off the side of the helicopter and into the blue below them.

Sam sent one last look at Benny and Brady tucked close behind him. The two of them were wearing parachutes, though Benny looked a lot more comfortable. The plan, as they'd discussed during the cramped ride, was for Dean and Sam to jump first, and for the two bodyguards to follow a few minutes later so they didn't interrupt Sam's filming. Brady looked pale from his position next to Benny, but that wasn't Sam's problem. With a nod at the older man, he stepped out onto the helicopter's arm and jumped.

He had a survivalist to chase.

* * *

Dean touched down just a few moments before Sam did, hurtling through the cooler air until he thought his heart would stop from the adrenaline running through his body. He'd forgotten the thrill parachuting sent through him, and surprise had the survivalist tipping his head back, screaming soundlessly into the wind whipping around him. His chute deployed after that, slowing his descent. He took a few seconds to scan the ground below them, aiming for a low canyon to his right as the crisp wind flung him around.

The moment his boots hit the ground he turned to find Sam, undoing his parachute with one hand, the other patting his pockets. A reassuring bump in the fabric made him pause. The two-way radio Benny had given him was still there. He looked up to see Sam carefully maneuvering towards him, camera pointed directly at his face. He smiled, waving.

Sam's face twisted as the bump jarred his ribs, but he managed a clean touchdown without moving the camera much. Dean had to hand it to him; the kid was better than most. The last time they'd done deserts, his cameraman tried to get a better shot of Dean and hadn't looked down-breaking both his ankles in the process. Yeah, Sam was lightyears ahead of that one. What had his name been again? Gor..Gordian something? Gordon Walker. Or, as Dean called him when he did the accident write-up for it a week later, Gordon Not-Walker.

"We've been dropped into a deep canyon just south of one of Moab's largest parks," Dean said to Sam as an opener, chest still heaving slightly from the jump. "Every year, thousands of tourists trek through the miles and miles of land around us; however, many of them are not prepared for the conditions you're about to see. I'm going to show you how to stay smart, and, best of all, alive in one of the most unforgiving climates in the world."

He gestured for Sam to start moving, climbing a small trail to their right. Red walls of rock closed them in on all sides, rising hundreds of feet above their heads. They stood off to the side as Benny and Brady finally parachuted in, touching down in the center of the canyon.

"Easy, easy," Benny shouted to the other bodyguard, landing just a few seconds earlier. "You're going too fast-"

Brady was, in fact, going a little faster than he should've. Dean winced as the kid touched down hard, landing square on his feet with enough force to make his knees crumple beneath him. Sam hissed next to him, hitting the stop button on the camera and setting it down. Dean joined him as they ran over to the bodyguards, already shaking his head. Of course this would happen.

"Jesus." Brady mumbled into the dust, his legs in a heap underneath him. "Shit. Shit shit shit."

"Sam, check his other knee," Dean pointed, running his other hand down the Brady's left leg, feeling for breaks. The cameraman did the same, face pinched in concentration.

"That was the stupidest-" Benny bit off his anger, face mottled red in the heat of the sun-or anger. "Brady. Get off your ass and stop taking up time."

Brady bolted upright, face regaining color. He shoved his leg out of Dean's hand, but turned to Sam before he got up, a grateful smile on his face. He looked enraptured, staring up at Sam like he was the second coming.

"Thank you so much, Sam." Brady said. "I'm so sorry I was so stupid."

The cameraman blushed, stepping back with a nod. "You're welcome. I don't think you broke anything, right Dean?"

"Course not. You were lucky," Dean growled, walking so he was closer to Sam. Where was his apology? It was his show, after all.

The kid was acting weird enough to set alarm bells ringing in his mind. He put a hand on the cameraman's shoulder, subtly reasserting himself. "Now we have other things to do."

The kid had enough sense to look cowed, but he sent Sam another look before he got up, pushing himself up onto thankfully unbroken knees. Benny shook his head at his protegé, sending Dean an apologetic look as they backed out of the shot. Damn straight Benny should feel bad about his kid's fuck up. Had he never jumped out of a plane before?

Sam walked back to his camera and hit record again, lifting it onto his shoulder with a nod towards Dean. He cleared his face of any remaining emotion, looking around the canyon they were in for inspiration. He pointed above their heads.

"The temperature in these canyons can be almost twenty degrees less than the land above them, but don't be fooled. You can still get heat exhaustion or fever down here," Dean gestured at the small cropping of dry plants in the cracks of the canyon floor. "Water is your most important objective, and local guides have a saying about it. A lost hiker is down in 12 hours, and dead in 24."

He saw the small quirk of Sam's eyebrow over the viewfinder at that fact, secretly enjoying all of the cameraman's little expressions. He was getting better at reading the other man's facial tics. Dean grinned to himself. He was like a Sam barometer.

They began the slow walk down the huge canyon floor, moving towards the mouth far ahead of them. From what Dean had seen from the jump in, the canyon edged out into a small cave-possibly a way out of the literal hole they were in right now. He wondered what Sam would say about going into another cave and decided not to bring it up right that moment.

"And if you look at the brown bits of vegetation over here, you'll find a group of invasive species, the most apparent of them being the tamarisk tree." Dean pointed at a dense group of the trees, brown and strangely wispy in appearance. "The Colorado river corridor ecosystem entered a stage of imbalance many years ago, due to the earlier introduction of tamarisk by settlers in the 1800s…"

* * *

Sam wiped the sweat off his face with one hand, feeling his hand slip around the plastic handle of the camera balanced on his shoulder. He was breathing a little faster than usual, but it felt good. His ribs twinged, reminding him that he wasn't completely healed, but he ignored the tightness he could feel there. Dean was crouched down in front of him, chattering on about some native animal and nocturnal habits and dietary restrictions...all while making it the sexiest documentary Sam had ever had the pleasure to film. The survivalist could've been talking about colonoscopies and Sam still would've been riveted to the screen.

They'd spent the last half hour following patches of vegetation down the canyon, heading towards the north end with a fairly brisk speed. Dean reiterated his earlier words about heat exhaustion often, especially the bit about water. Sam, in the small breaks they'd taken, spent a few seconds looking around without the viewfinder when he wasn't watching the survivalist lick his dry lips.

The scenery wasn't much to look at; it was more the lack of anything other than the sun and the heat that was impressive. Dean seemed to be edging them towards the narrow end of the canyon without any explanation beyond the need to find water quickly. Benny and Brady stayed a good few hundred feet back, always prepared to move in, should a ninja suddenly decide to materialize and beat the crap out of the two of them.

They came up on a small, shallow pool of water that disappeared into the rocks at the edge of the canyon. Shrubbery littered the shore, greedily sucking up the water. Dean went to taste the water and Sam flung his hand out.

"Look," he leaned around the camera, pointing at the edge of the pool. A small skeleton was floating in the murky water, disintegrating before their eyes, flesh dissolving in chunks. "I don't think drinking is a good idea."

Dean nodded, his hand reaching back unconsciously to brush his lips for what seemed like the hundredth time to Sam. He addressed the camera.

"Dead animals in the water supply is never a good sign, even if it's your only source of hydration." The survivalist pointed at the carcass, then gestured at the rest of the rocky alcove. "Try to find an area with free flowing water or areas that aren't stagnant. If you do drink here, you run the risk of severe illness and death."

Sam frowned to himself, trying to figure out why Dean would've missed that in the first place. He seemed distracted; angry even. Considering the way he'd flipped out on Brady, maybe something was up. The cameraman made a note to ask him about it later when they had some free time.

"However, I think this cave has other plans for us." Dean surprised him by wading into the small pool, going almost waist deep. "If you look ahead, there's deeper water and what looks like light filtering through. If we can reach the other side of this wall, we might be able to find fresher water and a way out." He gestured at Sam. "C'mon. Get in."

"You're joking," Sam broke rank.

Dean raised an eyebrow, looking down at his soaked shirt. "Do I look like I'm joking."

Sam set the camera down and hit the stop button. "We are _not _going in there. Do you remember the last time we decided water filled caves were a good idea?"

Dean sighed like Sam was being unreasonable, crossing his arms, going even deeper into the water. His legs were spread wide for balance, overemphasizing the bow-leggedness of his frame. "It's still water. It's not going to be very dangerous."

"You said flash floods were a problem around here when we were driving in!"

Benny and Brady were edging in towards them, walking the remaining hundred or so feet between them at a slightly hurried pace. Sam made a discreet effort to calm down, lowering the hands he was about to use to emphatically argue his point with.

"Look," Dean said, voice barely loud enough to reach Sam. "I don't want to force you into anything you don't feel safe doing. If you have serious safety concerns, we can pass this up. We can find another route."

Sam shook his head, frustrated with himself. The heat was getting to him. "No, no...Dean, we can do it. I guess I just want to be down on the record as not liking it."

"Noted." Dean said dryly, sending Benny a brisk nod as the bodyguard came up the rocky shoulder behind eyes focused intently on the pair of them. "You doing okay, my man?"

"Always, brother." Benny slapped Brady on the back, making the smaller man stumble slightly. "Sounds like you're about to do something dangerous."

"We're gonna take the cave down and see if the other side opens up some," Dean said, perfectly understating it. "Sam's a little afraid about getting his feet wet, but we'll be fine."

Sam neglected to mention how much Dean had screamed the time he'd gone over the waterfall inside the cave in Guatemala-how desperate he'd sounded. It still reverberated in his head, and that made him want to shake the survivalist for his bravado. Neither of them really wanted to do this.

"Well, if we're ready to go, then let's start filming." Dean waded deeper into the water, shoulders rolling as he geared himself up for the dive. Sam tiptoed into the water, cringing as the chilly water soaked his jeans. He told the voice at the back of his head to shut up, focusing the lens so Dean's face was dramatically cast in shadow instead of a blurry blob.

"The water down here is colder; that's because it receives barely any sunlight." Dean pointed above their heads, to the rock curving into a ceiling. "Caves like these usually have passageways worn into them by years of erosion and flash floods. If we can find an exit through here, we should be able to find a way onto higher land, and even better: water."

Sam shuddered again as his chest disappeared under the cool water, heart rate increasing involuntarily. The cave wasn't exactly dark around them, but the sound of rushing water brought back bad memories. He got the distinct impression he wasn't going to be completely okay with water slides for a while either.

Dean was swimming a few feet ahead of him, Brady and Benny following silently behind Sam. The survivalist was still talking to the camera, voice echoing as the cave widened.

"Ah-here," Dean grabbed the lens, shifting it to the small crack in the cave wall ahead of them. "There's an exit here, I think."

The small crack turned out to be rather large at second glance, sunlight filtering through the rock. A pile of debris, mostly branches and leaves plugged the gap, piled almost six feet high.

"This pile is too high to climb, and too heavy to shift on my own," Dean said, pointing at the crack. "Piles like this form after severe flash floods, and can usually be swam under."

Sam glanced over his shoulder at Benny, who nodded his assent back. The cameraman steeled himself, cursing Dean like crazy in his head.

"The pile seems to be about seven, eight feet long. However, this water is freezing, and you only have a certain amount of time before it starts to affect my breathing." Dean said, pushing at the pile of debris. "If you need to hold your breath, it will only get more difficult the colder you get. Swim fast, take deep breaths, and don't panic."

He turned back to Sam, his eyes locking with his through the viewfinder. The message was clear: _I love you. I can do this. Trust me._

Dean took a deep breath and let it out, Sam mirroring his action. In, out, in out.

They dove down into the stagnant water, Sam keeping a firm hold on the camera as darkness enveloped him. It was almost impossible to see underwater, save for a small glimmer of light to his left. It must be the other side of the pile.

Dean's outline was just barely visible to him, light clothing reflecting the limited light enough to be picked up by the camera. Sam looked down and resisted the urge to gulp. The canyon floor extend far below him, a good fifteen feet stretching down into darkness. He snapped his head back up and kept swimming, urged on by Dean's firm, methodical strokes.

Sam suddenly felt something around his ankle, tugging him down towards the murky darkness below him. He let out a panicked gasp as he tried to wrench his leg free, only hurting himself in the process. His lungs began to burn, using up all of his oxygen as he struggled to get free.

What was grabbing him? He kicked out, breaking whatever hold the thing had had on him. He felt arms around his shoulders and lashed out again, fearful. He was _not_ drowning in some cave, not after they'd barely escaped the last one alive.

Sam gasped as he surfaced, drawing sweet lungfuls of air into his body. The sun was shining down in full force on the water, heating his face. The arms he'd felt around him loosened, pulling him towards the shore. He caught a glimpse of Dean's freckled face, eyes a sharp green in the light.

"What the hell was that?" The survivalist asked when they'd made it to shore. Benny and Brady were just beginning the swim over, heads poking out from under the pile.

"_Sam_."

"Something-something grabbed my foot." Sam coughed, spitting out rancid water. "I don't know. I was swimming fine, then suddenly I was getting yanked down."

"Something grabbed you?" Dean was livid. He turned to shout at Benny when Sam reached out, grabbing his face before he could say anything. "Damn it, I wasn't-"

"Don't," Sam turned his jaw so he was facing him head on. "It was probably just a branch or something. I must have caught my foot on something, or wedged it weird. It's fine."

Dean hissed, narrowing his eyes. "Sam-"

"Can we just get out of the water? Please?" Sam struggled to get up, moving away from the stagnant water. "Let's not make a big deal out of it, okay? No more caves."

"No more caves," Dean agreed, visibly appearing to calm himself down. "And definitely not ones with water in them."

Benny and Brady were just making it out of the water, a look of mirrored concern on their faces.

"Is everything okay?" Benny asked. The smile that split Dean's face was hard to believe, but it seemed to appease the bodyguard.

"Fine. Y'all doing okay? Brady?"

Sam resisted the urge to frown. Something was up.

"Fine, sir." The younger man said, straightening like he was going to salute. "Are we ready to move on?"

Dean looked to Sam, who nodded after a second of thought. He grabbed his camera, hefting it up onto his soaked shoulder.

"Onwards."

* * *

The channel that had led them through the canyon wall left them on the edge of another plain, stretching out above the other canyons and indentations. Sam stared in awe at the archways that layered the area. He'd thought the other canyon was big-this one seemed to stretch on for miles. Walls and walls of caves were to their west, the overhead sun blinding them with its brightness.

Dean demonstrated how to make a proper head covering using the water from the cave, ripping a piece of his shirt into a section large enough to wrap around his head. Soaking it with the stagnant water, he placed it over his face and hair, effectively covering them from the sun's rays. They began their trek northwards, still looking for water and food.

Sam was beginning to get tired right around when Dean stopped them, walking over to a patch of vegetation curled in the shade of a rock. He dug into the dirt around it, feeling for wet earth.

"If you've looked on the internet in the last few years, you've probably read an urban myth about cacti being huge sources of water," Dean pointed at the cactus in question, a small barrel of spikes. "They're not, in fact, drums of water waiting for you to drink from. Odds are any water they've stored is acidic, grainy or toxic. It can give your cramps, diarrhea, or increase your dehydration. Your best bet is to dig around the base of the plants if they're close together. Odds are, they're congregating over some small water source."

Sam maneuvered the camera over so he could catch a shot of Dean bending over and scraping the dry earth away, drawing darker ground to the surface. A few feet down it began to darken even further, clumping in his hands and then dissolving completely. Instead of drinking, Dean stood, taking off one of his boots and then his sock.

"The water you find probably isn't safe to drink, no matter how deep you go down." Dean held his sock up, looking only partially ridiculous with one foot bare. "If you can, make a modified filtration system. Pack rocks at the bottom, coarse sand, fine sand and some sort of material in that order at the bottom of the sock."

The survivalist placed pebbles into the sock, adding the other materials after some scavenging. He scooped the sock into the muddy water, drawing it up and over his head.

Sam's eyes glazed over as Dean's mouth opened, sucking greedily at the bottom of the sock as water trickled through. Beyond that action being entirely too hot for something as gross as drinking out of a sock, Sam was thirsty. He eyed the water that dripped down the other man's chin, trying not to moan. Dean saw his look and gestured for him to put the camera down, holding the sock up with one dirt-covered hand.

He set the camera down hastily on the canyon floor, tipping his head back and opening his mouth wide. Dean put a hand at the back of his neck, guiding the water.

"So good. So good for me, Sammy." Sam almost choked, the desire for water just barely overruling the urge. "You're so beautiful."

He felt his cheeks flame, but finished his share, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Dean's hand on his neck pulled him forward, turning them face to face, inches from each other.

"Sammy," Dean breathed, his voice just above a rumble. Sam leaned in, pressing their lips together lightly. They were so-

"Hey, aren't you gonna share?"

Sam stepped back suddenly as Brady jostled his arm, Benny right behind him. They were both staring eagerly at the sock, licking their lips. Sam flushed, embarrassed. Of course they'd be thirsty, and here they were making out-

"Have at it." Dean tossed the sock into Benny's hand, frame suddenly rigid and commanding. He shoved his boot on without the sock, moving away from the group. "I'm going to go find us somewhere to sleep."

Sam caught a slightly guilty look from Benny, but didn't say anything. He watched Dean go, lips burning.

* * *

A/N Thank you for reading! Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought! :)


	16. Moab Desert: Part Three

A/N Hey guys! I wanted to thank everyone who's reading and reviewing. You guys are amazing people, so I hope you know that:)

This week is a bit of a short update. I wanted to warn those of you reading with the T rating that there is some non-con touching ahead. Brief, but still there. I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Darkness was beginning to fall when Dean found their shelter for the night, a small indent into the rocky canyon walls that barely qualified as a cave. It was almost fifty feet up one of the jagged pieces, connected by a natural slope ground into being through years of erosion. Like everything else in the canyon, it was awe-inspiring.

After a quick explanation on hunting desert wildlife, Sam and Benny had retired to the rocky shelter, Dean and Brady trailing with the various animals and plants they'd gathered while filming. Sam took the time to review the day's footage, absentmindedly skipping to the clips where his foot had been caught. He thought he saw something pale flash in the corner of the viewfinder, barely lasting a frame or two before disappearing.

Sam was unsurprisingly relieved when Dean returned from his dinner run, and spent the rest of the evening close to the survivalist. The distance between them seemed to lessen as the cave descended into darkness, and Sam didn't mind. Benny eventually lit a fire with a flint he kept on a chain around his neck, sending sparks into the piles of twigs and branches they'd picked up. It roared into life with a fervor that defied the chilling feel the air had taken on. _Imagine that; freezing to death in the desert. _It was also an excuse to cuddle with Dean, though he was sure the other man wouldn't call it that.

Benny and Brady sat across the fire from them, seemingly unfazed by the way Dean had pulled Sam into his lap, legs bracketing his shoulders as the other man played with his hair. Sam dozed, content to lay his head back and ruminate on the day.

Dean and Benny, of course, spent the time nagging on each other.

"How's the lizard?"

Benny crinkled his nose. "A little tough. Could use more sauce."

"Yeah?" Dean leaned around Sam and grabbed a skewer, sending sparks from the embers swirling the bodyguards' way. He took an experimental bite from the blackened flesh, chewing thoughtfully. "Nah. Perfect."

Sam let out a snort, getting a playful hair tug from the other man as the survivalist settled back into his earlier position, hands returning to his hair. Benny leaned forward, grabbing another half skewer of lizard, settling back against the cave wall with a speculative look. Sam felt a low blush spread across his skin as the other man's gaze focused on him, resisting the urge to duck his head and hide behind his bangs.

"So, how did you two cats meet?" Benny asked amicably. Brady perked up noticeably at that, leaning up from his slouch against the rocky wall. Sam did duck his head that time, seeking more of Dean's hands. Something about Brady's stare put him off. He didn't know why.

"We met during a shoot," Dean said for both of them, nodding at Benny. "Sam here was a smart ass-"

Benny interrupted. "Takes one to know one, huh Winchester?"

The survivalist grinned at the other ex-marine, teeth flashing white in the darkness. "You wanna hear the rest of the story or not, Lafitte?"

The bodyguard shrugged, folding his hands behind his head. "I got all the time in the world. Though I'd rather hear it from Sam. You're too accomplished at making yourself sound good."

Sam blushed for real that time, though it seemed as if the low light hid it. He coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat.

"Dean was kinda an asshole-"

"_Hey_!"

"-at first." Sam saw Benny's smile and continued, only because Dean's hands in his hair hadn't stalled. "He pretended to be all hard-assed and stuff. Ordered me to do extra laps in our 'training' session. Tried to get me to spar without telling me upfront."

"Winchester." Beny clicked his tongue, Brady nodding along. "You didn't hurt the poor boy, did you? Then again, your track record isn't great-"

"My track record is _fine_, thank you," Dean bristled. "The people who got hurt didn't know what they were doing."

The bodyguard looked appropriately unconvinced. "So you didn't hurt him?"

"Sam did very well. Almost knocked me on my ass more than once." Dean stared down at him, both of them remembering the heated moment on the sparring platform. They had been so close then, without even knowing each other. "Had enough left in him to mouth off, too."

"Sounds like you met your match." Benny laughed lightly, though Brady's subsequent loud clapping nearly shattered the moment.

"Way to go _Sammy_!"

Sam narrowed his eyes, though he smiled politely as the two bodyguards slapped his shoulder. He could feel Dean tense up behind him, though his hand continued to comb through his hair. He flicked a glance back at his partner. Dean had a low, steady look in his eyes, like he was focusing very hard on not breaking the blank expression on his face.

"Uh...thanks." He smiled, a weak excuse for his usual grin. "Like Dean said. Hate at first sight."

"Of course," Dean added coolly, draping his free arm around Sam's chest. "That's where all the wonderful hate sex comes from. Too much animosity-"

"I did not hear that," Benny shielded his eyes as Dean leaned down, kissing Sam lightly, sweeter than ever. "I don't understand this. First you're naked, then you're acting like five year olds, and now you're sucking face. I'm missing something."

"Awww. Jealous, Benny?" Dean nuzzled Sam's throat lightly before pulling away, holding Sam close to his side. "It's not a good look on you."

"Fuck off, Winchester."

Sam blushed as Dean grabbed him somewhere definitely not appropriate for group sharing.

"Not a problem."

* * *

Sam rolled over in his sleep, seeking Dean's touch as a wave of cold settled over him. Jesus. They hadn't told him it would get this cold at night, though it was sort of on him for not knowing. Benny had put out the fire ages ago, but Sam had insisted on sleeping close to the embers, much to Dean's dissatisfaction. The two of them were curled up together under Benny's spare jacket, using that and some of the backup parachute's fabric as a pseudo blanket. The two bodyguards bunked a respectable distance away, blocking the mouth of the cave. Benny had taken first watch, though it looked like he had nodded off sometime in the night, so Brady had taken over.

Sam had fallen asleep after a good three rounds of what he called _don't wake up Benny and Brady_ or, as Dean liked to call it, _sharing body_ _heat_.

Needless to say, Sam went into the land of dreams in bliss, dreaming about what they'd do tomorrow. The cold air wasn't enough to fully wake him now, hours later, but it was getting close. He blinked blearily. The embers lit the small cave, providing just enough light to see by.

An arm brushed his chest, trailing down his hips to his thigh. Sam snuggled back into the warmth, moaning sleepily as the hand skittered across his jeans. Was Dean even awake?

Sam opened his eyes with a smile, ready to surprise the survivalist with a hand of his own when he froze. He gasped as familiar face appeared above him, jerking away from the touch.

"_Brady_? What the-"

The bodyguard clamped a hand over his mouth, using the other to continue stroking Sam's thighs. Sam grabbed his hand, forcing it away from his crotch. What the fuck. What the _fuck_.

"Dean," Sam turned his head in Brady's hold, spotting the survivalist asleep a few feet away. He tried to kick out, panicking. "Dean!"

"Shhh," Brady pressed another hand down on Sam's windpipe, smothering his cries. He positioned himself above Sam, blanketing him with his body, pressing right against him.

Sam was seconds away from passing out and his body knew it. Gathering the last of his strength, vaulted up, shoving the other man off his chest in a desperate push. He felt dirty as Brady's hand clenched briefly around his crotch before falling away. The bodyguard barely made a sound as he hit the ground, already popping up to fight again. Lucky for Sam, he was a second too late. The cameraman gathered his breath, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"DEAN!"

* * *

Dean snapped awake at the earth shattering scream, his hand flickering instantly to where Sam had been curled up into his side, finding chilled rock instead of skin. His body moved before rational thought settled in, propelling him upwards as Sam's panicked sounds sent him into overdrive._ What the fuck was going on?_

Sam was pinned up against the cave wall by Brady, mouth opening into a cry as the body guard's hand skimmed his body, sending sparks of rage through Dean. He had his knife out in a heartbeat, charging the bastard. Benny was upright and waking up off to his left, hand on his gun.

"Get the fuck off him. _Now_, Brady!" Dean held the knife out defensively as the kid whirled, flipping Sam. His heart nearly stopped at what he saw.

"Back. Both of you," Brady pressed the gun closer to Sam's temple, digging into the pale skin there. Dean sense Benny at his side, gun up, unwavering. "You think I'm fucking _joking_? Get. Back. Or I shoot him."

Dean lowered the knife, knowing when he was outmatched. Benny didn't move. "Sam, you okay?"

"Dean," Sam gasped around the hold Brady had on his neck. "He's-"

"Shhhh, Sam." Brady stroked the cameraman's hair with the front of the gun. His gaze unfocused as he looked down at the other man. "Shhhh. You're alright. You're safe here. Don't look at him."

"Brady, drop the fucking gun," Benny growled, his face a mask of anger. "Brady."

"Oh, look. More bullshit orders." Brady dug the gun back into Sam's skull, drawing a choked groan from him. "You're the fucktard here, Benny. You can't protect Sam. That's my job."

"You wanna protect him?" Dean put his hands up, attempting the nonthreatening look for the first time in his life. "Put the gun down, Brady. You don't want to do this."

"Oh, but I do. I've got a job to do." Brady pulled Sam closer to him, edging along the cave wall towards the exit. "I mean, how stupid can you get? You and Sammy? Safe in the desert? I don't think so."

Sudden realization came over Dean.

"That was you in the water today," The survivalist growled. "You tried to drown Sam. Who the fuck-" He paused, venturing a guess. It was so obvious. "You're Azazel, aren't you?."

Brady surprised them with the force of his laugh, tipping his head back into Sam's shoulder and pressing his face there. Dean swallowed back his revulsion, feeling it burn in his gut.

"Whew," Brady mock wiped a tear from his eye, leaning against Sam. "That's funny, Dean. That's real swell, coming from you. Not that I wasn't enjoying myself-" He slid a hand down the front of Sam's shirt, grinning. "But I'm taking Sam _to _Azazel. And he pays well, you know? _Dinero_?"

Sam was wide eyed when Dean glanced at him again, gun still pressed against his curls, mute in horror. Brady was still moving them subtly towards the cave mouth, arm slung around the cameraman's neck, like two college buddies who got a little too tipsy.

"So you're just working for him," Dean gestured against the back of his thigh, praying Benny remembered the old signals. He chuckled, shaking his head, signaling again.

Brady's cheeks reddened slightly, but his composure remained. He smiled. "What's so funny, Dean?"

"I don't-it's just…" Dean laughed again, hearing Benny join in with him as he shifted to the right, following Brady's movement out of the cave. He gestured at Benny again, a small tap of his fingers against his thigh. "What'd he pay you, 50 bucks to just tag along? You pimp out pretty cheap, man-I don't know-"

"You shut the fuck up, ass-"

Benny followed his signal and dove, missing Sam's arm by hauled Sam roughly to the right, dodging Benny's aborted grab. Benny slammed up against the cave wall, taking an unavoidable elbow from the other bodyguard. Sam locked eyes with Dean, only a loose arm around his neck as Brady's focus split. Before he could speak Sam lashed out, trying desperately to escape Brady's grasp.

The bodyguard's head flipped back as Sam shoved his palm upwards, catching him in the nose. A small crack filled the cave, followed by a cry of rage as Brady struggled, grabbing Sam's arm.

"You wanna play?" Brady swung his gun around, aiming on Sam's shoulder. Dean cried out, pushing forward as a loud bang shattered the air. Sam fell backwards with a cry as his shoulder exploded in red, stumbling into Brady's arms. The other man hauled him upright, pressing the gun to his head. Blood ran down his shirt, staining it scarlet.

"Next shot's the head," The bodyguard's face was covered in blood and saliva, slick in the empty light from outside. He swung Sam bodily out of the cave, eliciting a groan from the injured cameraman. They stumbled out, Beady still covering the two of them with the gun. Dean caught one last glance of Sam's face before he was hauled away, terror ripping through his body.

"And Dean?" Brady saluted cheekily, striking an eerie figure with the blood splattered down his face. "Don't even _think_ about following me."

* * *

A/N Gahhhh! Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought!:) Next chapter things really get going!


	17. Moab Desert: Part Four

A/N Another chapter for you lovely people! Sorry for the wait. Thank you so much to everyone who's reading and reviewing. :)

It seems the story is coming to a close soon-or is it? Leave a review, and let me know what you think! New chapter will be up next week Friday!

* * *

_"You wanna play?" Brady swung his gun around, aiming on Sam's shoulder. Dean cried out, pushing forward as a loud bang shattered the air. Sam fell backwards with a cry as his shoulder exploded in red, stumbling into Brady's arms. The other man hauled him upright, pressing the gun to his head. Blood ran down his shirt, staining it scarlet._

_"Next shot's the head," The bodyguard's face was covered in blood and saliva, slick in the empty light from outside. He swung Sam bodily out of the cave, eliciting a groan from the injured cameraman. They stumbled out, Beady still covering the two of them with the gun. Dean caught one last glance of Sam's face before he was hauled away, terror ripping through his body._

_"And Dean?" Brady saluted cheekily, striking an eerie figure with the blood splattered down his face. "Don't even _think _about following me."_

* * *

Dean sprinted towards the mouth of the cave as soon as it was safe to do so, knife flashing in the darkness as Benny followed. Empty terrain was all that greeted them, whitewashed in the light of the bare desert moon above them. There was no sign of Sam or Brady, beyond the small smudge of blood on the cave floor.

Dean threw the knife down and swore loudly, looking beyond desperate and frustrated. Benny came up behind him, deliberately making enough noise to be heard, heart hammering. He'd never seen Dean so emotional before-so bare, so _angry_.

"We have to go after them," Dean said softly, voice trembling. Suddenly he whirled around, addressing the other bodyguard. "Sam's shot; he's not going to last long out there. His shoulder-"

"He'll shoot him again if we get close, you heard what he said." Benny interrupted, though subdued. "If we-"

"Fuck what he _said_, alright? We're going after him, join me of not, it's not my fucking problem." Dean's eyes were blazing in the moonlight, easily turned upon him. "Give me your gun, I'm going alone."

"I never said I wouldn't go with you," Benny bit off the urge to add _sir_, voice painfully small next to his commander's. He knew what was best, though. He steeled himself. "I'm saying we need a plan, alright? We can't go in guns blazing, you saw what he did to Sam. Clear your head, Dean. We need to take time and think about this."

Winchester's face tightened, and a second later he had a hand in Benny's shirt, slamming him against the cave wall.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ say something like that to me again. Do I need to remind you that the only reason I didn't put you down is the fact that you were too stupid to know about Brady," The survivalist leaned in, voice deceptively low and dangerous. "Sam is my number one priority _is that clear_? Now get the fuck on your feet and help me fix _your_ mistake before it's too late."

"Yes, sir." Benny breathed, absolutely terrified beneath the calm veneer he just barely held together.

Dean let him go, shoving him backwards and gathering his knife from the cave floor. He moved in one fluid motion, more predator than human as he stood, the moon reflected in his eyes. His gaze caught on Benny, making him shiver.

"Go."

He didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

Brady was having the time of his life-or, as close to a good time as he could have in yesterday's clothes, knee deep in the desert terrain.

His nose still throbbed, sending trickles of clotted blood down his face and soaking his shirt. He felt amazing, so the pain didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. He wasn't even pissed about messing up the shirt. He'd pulled one over on nature's greatest survivalist-he was the best fucking thing around for _miles. _

A little bit of pain wasn't going to get him down much; Sam Wesson was a different story.

He'd pretty much hauled ass as he'd dragged Sam out of the cave, completely ignorant of the agony the cameraman had to be in. Azazel hadn't specified about damaged goods when they'd talked, but even with a little shaved off his final price, Brady was pretty confident he was in for a hell of a lot of money. The kid was docile with the injury, pale and subservient-though that was probably just Wesson's natural state. Made sense that some alpha male like Winchester would feel the need to dominate and protect the kid constantly. He was weak. It was disgusting. Disgustingly easy, that was.

Heartless as he was, even he had to notice the extreme pain Wesson seemed to be in, taking time to intentionally grab that arm occasionally as he hauled the two of them over rocks and holes. They covered almost a mile before Wesson slowed, panting around the pain.

Brady dug his fingers into the fresh bullet wound in warning. Sam let out a muffled scream, shuddering in his grasp. He pushed his fingers even further into the joint, sorely disappointed when the action didn't illicit the same response.

"Tough guy, eh?" Brady sped up the pace. He was aiming for the mouth of the canyon they'd entered, having researched the trails long before Winchester had thought about traversing them. "You doing okay, Sammy? Wanna take a quick break?"

"Fuck you," Wesson swore between his teeth, face a mask of pain. He tried to shove out of Brady's grip, only causing him to grab into the well-rounded shoulder even harder. "Let me _go_!"

"Wanna wrestle for it? Heard you got some ticklish ribs, Wesson." Brady wriggled his fingers near where he knew Sam was still nursing some cracked bones, if not completely broken. "I'm game if you are."

"Why the bullshit, Brady?" Sam breathed in that exasperated voice of his, like he couldn't believe what he was saying. "What are you even doing?"

"Uhh, making money," Brady replied. _Duh._ "You're hot stuff, Sambo. Even I figured it out. S'why we had such a _connection_ the whole trip."

He let his other hand slip down Sam's chest, trailing down the firm chest he felt there. The cameraman's stare went glassy, like he was tuning him out. Brady just smiled, dipping his hand just a little further before pulling away, teasing. The kid's eyes followed his hand the entire time.

"That's alright. I'll let it slide this time, though I don't know what Azazel would say about you having such rebellious feelings." Brady grinned, sidestepping a decent sized hole with ease. "I'm just the handyman."

Sam shook his head. "What are you _smoking_? Jesus Christ." His face betrayed the fear the name had invoked, white teeth flashing as the other man bit his lip. "You were jealous of Dean the whole time. It had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you being a mercenary for hire."

Brady held a hand to his chest, mock-offended. His grip remained on the cameraman's shoulder. "Such angry words, _young skywalker._ Sure you don't got a couple problems of your own bobbling around up there in that smart noggin' of yours?"

"Fuck you," Sam nearly tripped over a rock as he turned away, grimacing as his shoulder pulled in Brady's grip. "Fuck you for doing this. Fuck you for messing up my shoulder. Fuck you for even _talking _to that bastard."

"Who, Azazel?" Brady shook his head, tongue clicking disapprovingly. "Sam, he's a real swell guy. You've got it all wrong. He really cares about you."

He saw Sam pale and felt a swell of pride.

"Not what you were expecting?"

* * *

Castiel rolled over in bed, groaning as something split through his dream. Gone was the chess game he and Gabriel had been playing, the image growing hazy as his bedroom ceiling came into focus. Gabriel himself was tucked into his shoulder, snoring lightly. He was wearing pink bunny pajamas Castiel hadn't had the nerve to mock the first time he'd seen them. Cas stared at the little blue and pink bunnies, wondering why someone was calling at four in the morning. Wait. Someone was calling.

He reached a clumsy hand out and found his phone, flipping it open and grimacing at the bright light that flooded the bedroom. Gabriel snuffled, twisting his face away as Castiel cleared his throat.

"...Yes."

"Cas?" A familiar voice breathed, hurried. "Cas, it's Dean."

Castiel sat up immediately, not even feeling guilty as Gabriel slid off his shoulder. "Dean. What is it?"

"Sam-Sam is gone." Castiel's heart stopped. "Brady took him. He pulled a gun, Cas, shot him in the shoulder. Bastard took him and ran."

Gabriel was awake now, eyes wide as he met Castiel's. He forced himself to stay calm, asking the rational questions. "Are you and Benny okay? Where did Brady run? Did he say why he was taking Sam?"

"Fuck, we're fine." Dean sounded breathless, like he was running. "We're tracking him now, but he's got a headstart on us. He threatened Sam-said he was taking him to see Azazel, some bullshit about getting paid-I just-I couldn't, okay? He was gonna shoot him again-"

"I understand." Cas motioned to Gabriel, mouthing for him to call 911. His voice didn't waver. "Do you know where he's going, or where he might bring Sam? Did he say where Azazel was?"

"He's heading north, out of the main canyon," Dean said. The call broke off a second as he shouted something to Benny, the response muffled. "Listen; you need to get cars at all the trail exits. If he's been planning this, he'll know which ones to take to avoid us. Our best bet is to cut him off before he gets too far with Sam."

"On it," Castiel nodded, watching Gabriel speak with the 911 operator in hushed tones across the bed, relaying his words. "We'll get him, Dean. I-"

He faltered, mouth closing before he promised anything. He couldn't tell Dean what he wanted to-that Sam was perfectly safe, that he would get him back-because he couldn't keep those promises.

"Have faith, Dean," was what he went with. "We will do all we can on this end. That I can promise."

"Damn straight," Dean's voice wavered with anger. "Because if he-if anything happens, I swear to you, I will take _everything _down. Sam is everything to me, do you understand?"

"Godspeed." He said simply, bowing his head in deference. Dean muttered a _goodbye _and hung up, the sound echoing down the line. Castiel hung up numbly, ears ringing with the survivalist's words.

Gabriel was finishing up with the operator, already dialing Ellen's number. He turned to Castiel as he pressed the call button, a drawn look on his normally expressive face. They stared at each other for a second, completely silent. Castiel finally stood up from the bed, running a hand through his hair.

"We need to get on a plane. Now."

* * *

"Don't ever say that. Don't say his name." Sam whispered, head bent. Horror was in his eyes. "You have no idea what he did-what he did to me. No idea."

"Aww, couldn't have been that bad. I'd punish you for whoring out like you were if I were him, though," Brady said. "You obviously aren't all that broken up about it, considering you were fucking Winchester like a bitch in heat the whole goddamn trip. You obviously like to share."

Sam's cheeks reddened. He jerked in Brady's hold, managing to dislodge his hand for a brief second. "Fuck you. Get your hand _off _me."

"Don't be like that, baby." Brady put the gun up, aiming it at the back of Wesson's head. "Maybe we'll share you later. You never know. Guy could get lucky."

The cameraman closed his eyes, hands trembling. "Stop."

"You wanna know how much he paid me to come get you? Huh? He must think you're a real good fuck, Wesson, cause it wasn't cheap. You a good fuck, huh? Wanna give me a preview?"

"You're a better guy than this, Brady," Sam looked up at him, eyes connecting with the gun, pleading. He looked like a goddamn puppy. "You know this is wrong. Please. Help me. Let me go."

Brady pretended to consider. "Sam..."

"Please. We'll call the police, hunt him down. You don't have to do this."

"Yeah?" Brady fake-swallowed, voice cracking. "You don't think-you don't think I'm bad?"

"Really," Wesson looked like he thought he was the second coming, pulling that face. "We can get out of this. You're not a bad guy. Please."

Brady bit his lip. It looked contemplative; in reality, it was the only thing holding his laughter back. He tilted his head, staring back into those _glistening _eyes.

"...Fine. But I want one thing first. You gotta promise me. I don't think I can do this without it."

He almost laughed at the way Wesson's eyes widened innocently, desperate. "Okay."

"Spread your legs."

Sam's face collapsed as Brady _laughed_, his hope visibly shattering. He almost lost it as he saw a glimmer in the other man's eyes, feeling tears of laughter in his own. Still hooting, he grabbed Sam's shoulder roughly and dragged him forward, the gun clenched in his hand. They started walking again, Sam submissive, in pain at his side. He laughed again. If Dean's viewers and fans could see him now.

"Sorry, sweetheart."

* * *

They walked for hours, though Sam got the impression he was only walking because it would've been harder to carry his unconscious body a good four miles across the desert alone. Brady navigated the trails with ease, guiding them north. They covered miles of dust and rocks in silence, Sam shivering from the pain and the temperature. His shoulder wasn't actively bleeding anymore, but the wound was still oozing blood.

He needed medical attention sooner rather than later, but he got the impression Brady wasn't going to be the most accommodating host. He ended up pulling off his button down and wrapping it around his shoulder tightly, grimacing as the pain built to a crescendo. Brady watched him throughout the process, an amused expression on his face as he struggled to tie the makeshift bandage while walking. He heard Dean's voice in his head, guiding his fingers as he knotted it.

_Easy. Slow down. Bring the string up, then down, and twist it twice around the bottom loop. Knot it tightly. Repeat. Sam, are you even paying attention-_

That had been in Hawaii, their first shoot together. God, how long ago had that been? A month? Two? He had been so utterly convinced Dean had hated him-actually, he had been more convinced Dean wanted to push him off the nearest cliff-and so desperate to prove himself. Now he was struggling with a bullet wound, on top of his still-healing ribs. He'd been playing the damsel in distress for too long; Dean would've shaken off the injuries in a heartbeat. Dean would've wanted for him to be strong.

But it hurt. It _hurt. _His shoulder was a mass of pain, jarred with every step over uneven ground. His ribs were aching with the weight they'd had to support, each breath he drew tinged with just a little more pain. His feet were numb, legs moving aimlessly as he stumbled next to Brady, always aware of the gun pointed at the back of his head. He felt drained, physically and emotionally. How had Bruce Willis spent a whole night like this in _Die Hard_? It had only been...how long had it been? Sam could see the horizon lightening, dawn approaching with a breathtaking blue lighting up the sky. _  
_

He had to escape. There was no other choice. He couldn't wait around for someone to come and save him-if it were that easy-not when the threat of Azazel was looming so closely. Would he be waiting when they exited the canyon? Why was Azazel even here, after so many years?

Sam struggled to clear his head. They walked another mile or so before Brady's pace began to pick up, till they were practically running, Sam stumbling along. He saw lights ahead and balked, knowing what was waiting for him. He couldn't go back-he couldn't do this, he needed to do something-

Brady had the gun stowed, hands fiddling with something in his pocket as they ran. Sam gathered his wits, balling his fingers into a fist. He focused on the spot under the other man's jaw and aimed, putting all his weight behind the swing as he dove at the smaller man.

Dry hands caught his fist, spinning him around expertly. Sam gasped as a forearm was pinned against his neck, something pinching into the skin underneath it. His vision went hazy, all the fight draining from his limbs.

"There you go," Brady purred into his hair, sounding disgustingly smug. "There you go, Sammy. Take a nap. You've earned it."

Sam panicked as his sight completely disappeared, falling boneless into Brady's waiting arms. His head thudded once against the ground, bouncing. He had a second to wonder how it had gone so wrong before everything went black.

* * *

Dean and Benny covered as much ground as they could with the difference in time, following the vague tracks Brady and Sam had left in the desert soil. Castiel had called back once to inform them the police were converging on the exits, though it would take some time to cover everything. Dean exchanged a handful of words with the other man and hung up, heart pounding. Benny was running tirelessly next to him, face set. Dean stuffed the phone in his pocket and powered on, spotting some movement far ahead as he did. He pointed it out to Benny, drawing them behind a bush and crouching.

"See that?"

The bodyguard squinted. "Rabbit?"

"Does it look like a rabbit to you?"

"I can't see shit in this light. What're you seeing?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Two figures, I think. One of them's limp, getting dragged by the other one. Hey-"

"What?"

"I just saw a light ahead. Look. There it goes again."

A car's headlights appeared a couple hundred meters ahead, illuminating the pair. Brady's shorter frame was obvious, struggling to carry Sam's unconscious weight. Dean's heart lurched as he saw the blood staining Sam's shirt, praying that was the only thing wrong with him.

"Shit."

Benny's eyes widened. He turned to Dean with a questioning look on his face, eyebrow raised. "What now?"

"We go get him."

The bodyguard swallowed, obviously unhappy with the plan but too smart to say so. "Okay. Plan?"

"I take the gun. You follow with the knife. Cover me, and watch the car. I don't know why it's here, but it's making me nervous."

They switched weapons and moved forward, covering the distance quickly, wary of the impending sunrise and the loss of cover. Benny flanked off as they neared the pair, covering Dean's back as he trained the gun on Brady.

Dammit. Not even close to a clear shot from where they were. Sam's body was slumped over Brady's shoulder, the shorter man hauling him towards the idling car with some difficulty. Dean almost smirked to himself. Trust Sam to make things difficult even when unconscious. He quickly scanned the license plate as they moved closer, committing it to memory.

"Can I get a little fucking _help_?" He heard Brady call out. Two men dashed out of the car, grabbing hold of Sam's arms and legs. They moved him into the car's backseat, careful enough that it meant he was still alive. _Alive for what? _Dean wanted to know. What did Azazel want with Sam, if it wasn't to kill him?

He put all thoughts out of his mind, focusing on his one objective; saving Sam. He focused his aim on Brady as the bastard walked around the car to check on Sam, leaving his back wide open. As much as he wanted to put a bullet into the fucker's head right then, he couldn't take a murder charge-especially not three. He signaled to Benny, praying that this time, their plan would work.

_Bang. Bang. _He shot Brady in both knees, smiling to himself as the kid went down screaming. His mind flashed back to their earlier scare parachuting, when the kid had almost broken both knees coming in too fast. This was much more satisfying.

The survivalist heard Benny struggling with the other men as he walked towards Brady, gun up. He trained it on the other man, only to get a bloody smile from the kid.

"Dean. What a surprise."

The survivalist didn't smile back. He glared down at the injured man, aiming the gun between his eyes.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't shoot you right now, Brady."

A guttural moan escaped behind him, and a second too late Dean recognized it as Benny's. Brady's smile grew wider, grotesque as dawn revealed his swelling face.

"Oh, I think I can give you one."

A heavy weight slammed down on his head, sending him crashing into darkness.

* * *

A/N Uh oh...what's gonna happen to Sam and Dean? Leave me a review, and let me know what you think!:) Next chapter will be up soon!


	18. All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 1

A/N Here's the next chapter for you wonderful people! For the purposes of my terrible memory, let's pretend Adam was born in 1982. If you can't tell by the title, we're getting closer to the end.

Thank you so much to everyone who is reading, and my wonderful beta. The next chapter should be up next week Friday:)

* * *

**January, 1986. Colorado Mountains.**

_Dean smiled as Adam waved to him, shielding his eyes from the fading winter sunset to their west. A brilliant orange had blanketed the snow drifts, making the icy snow look warm and inviting. Even the surrounding trees looked less weighed down, lighter and fuller with the sun's light on them, bare of any leaves._

_It was winter, there was no doubt, but it didn't mean they had to stay inside all day. Mom said they could play outside, even though Dean knew it was more than just a suggestion. The house was warm, but there wasn't anything interesting there. He and Adam had exhausted every outlet-crayons, legos, board games. Sometimes there was nothing left to do but kick around outside until something interesting popped up. Besides, Mom was making dinner._

_"Dean!" Adam called off to his left, head bobbing behind a taller snowbank. His snowsuit covered every inch of his body, turning him into little more than a material-covered potato. Or, at least Dean thought so. "De-an! Come look at the river! S'frozen!"_

_"I'm comin'," Dean mumbled, digging his boots into the snow beneath his feet carefully, avoiding the melted patches. They were fire-engine red. He'd picked them out himself with Dad at the beginning of winter, and Adam couldn't have them, even if his little feet wouldn't fit into them._

_He found Adam at the bottom of the hill, butt plopped onto a snowbank as he waited for Dean. When he spotted his older brother he shot up, wobbling on stubby legs._

_"Dean! Dean! Look at the river!"_

_Dean made a show of staring at the frozen river, squinting. "I don't see it."_

_"The river, silly. It's right there!"_

_"Where?" He tickled Adam's chin, delighting in the laughter he received. The kid squirmed in his arms, desperately pointing._

_"There! There, Dean. Don't you see it?" Adam's eyes were wide, a startling blue in the evening light. "The snow's all on top of it!"_

_Dean put him down and put a toe out, about ten feet from where the river began. "Here?"_

_"No. Closer."_

_He inched out a little further, coming to a stop about five feet away. "Here then."_

_Adam giggled. "Closer."_

_Dean moved again, inches from the ice. Adam smiled at him. "Am I warm?"_

_"Yessssss."_

_"How much further? I don't see it, Adam. You tell me."_

_The sun was setting just over the hill. The sky was darkening, and Dean knew they should go back in soon. Adam was insistent, though._

_"Go three steps forward, De."_

_Dean took three baby steps, placing himself just over the frozen river. They'd been out fishing here with Mom and Dad at the start of winter. He'd never gone out alone, but the ice seemed strong enough close to shore._

_Adam looked unimpressed with his antics. He grabbed Dean's mitten, pulling him forward. The ice helped, guiding Dean further onto the river. Dean let himself be led, smiling at the self-assured look on Adam's face. The kid was already too bossy._

_"I...I think I see it now! Happy?" Dean asked when they were out a good fifteen feet. Adam shook his head, poking Dean in the side. Hard._

_"Chase me! Chase, Dean!"_

_Dean's eyes widened in outrage, and he stumbled as Adam shot away. He slipped on the ice, barely stopping himself from face-planting as his brother giggled, somehow more limber on the ice than he'd been in snow._

_"Ha-ha, Dean can't mooooove," Adam sang, cheeks flushed with excitement. He was a good thirty feet out from the shore, dancing on the ice. Dean shot him a glare._

_"I'm gonna get you," He wasn't kidding. His ribs hurt. Dean launched forward. "Better run!"_

_Adam's eyes widened, and he took a hurried step back. A strange sound stopped Dean in his tracks, and he looked down. Adam's foot had split the ice, his little boot soaking wet. Cracks radiated from the small hole, spider webbing the rest of the ice._

_"Adam," He held his hand out. Fear had turned his playful enthusiasm icy cold. "Grab onto my hand. Don't move your feet."_

_"De…"_

_"Grab my hand. C'mon."_

_His brother was wide-eyed still, mouth slack with surprise. He looked down, then up again. The cracks continued to spread._

_"Adam-"_

_Dean lurched forward as the ice buckled, sending Adam plunging through. He caught the edge of his brother's scarf, trying in vain to yank him upwards, only to get pulled in as well. He closed his eyes and braced himself._

_The water hit him like a solid force, knocking the air out of his lungs. He scrabbled wildly for Adam's scarf, torn from his grasp. His hand hit something, sending numb sensations up his arm. He grabbed hold of what felt like an arm and swam for the surface._

_The air was strangely warm when he surfaced. Dean heaved, pushing Adam onto the ice above him. He had to try a few times, head dipping below the water with every push. Finally, when Adam was up, he pulled himself across the ice, choking on the fire in his lungs._

_"A-adam?" He croaked. He put a tentative hand on his brother's arm, pushing. Adam coughed, his little body convulsing as water dribbled down his face._

_"De'n?"_

_Warm relief. Not enough to thaw them, though._

_"Yeah, buddy. I'm here." Dean gasped, picking him up. He was a million times heavier, it seemed. "We gotta get inside, warm up."_

_"No m-more ice."_

_"That's r-right. No more ice."_

_He walked as carefully off the river as he could, avoiding the darker patches of ice. The hill looked impossible from the bottom, dark and scary now that the sun was down. Had Mom noticed they weren't in yet? He bit his lip, digging his boots into the first step. Then the next. Another._

_"I'm so cold, Dean."_

_The wind whistled against his face, clawing at numb skin._

_"I know, little brother. I know. We're almost there."_

_"No…N-no we're not. I can't see anything."_

_He was so cold. It was like hugging ice. Frosted eyelashes blinked open weakly, blue eyes catching his. He tightened his hold._

_"Hold on, Adam. C'mon, you gotta hold your arms tighter."_

_His brother made a pained noise._

_"I can't."_

_"Yes, you can. You can." He rubbed his hands down Adam's arms, pushing blood back into his brother's skin. Where was everyone?_

_What was he supposed to do?_

_"It's so cold. H-how is it t-this cold out?" He needed to get Adam warmer. But how?_

_Lights shone ahead. He stumbled towards them, jarring the precious bundle in his arms with every step._

_"Adam, we're almost there," he breathed out ice, but the lights ahead warmed him. "Just hold on. Hold on, little brother. I—I have you-"_

_He stumbled and fell, sprawling them in front of the door. Adam was silent, tumbling from his arms like a dead weight into the snow._

_"Adam," he moaned weakly, trying to cradle his brother's head. The ice from the river shone glassy on his skin. "Adam, please."_

_He crawled towards the door, reaching up a shaking fist. One, two, three._

_"Somebody help me!" Knock. "Help!"_

_Nothing._

_"Adam?"_

_Help me. Help us._

_What do I—_

_"HELP!"_

_Adam, Adam—_

_"Adam?"_

_His brother's chest didn't rise. No breath escaped his lips._

_"No," He pushed forward on numb legs, crying out as the blood pumped through his veins. "No no no no no, please, I-"_

_Light flooded his senses. Strong arms brushed his hands away, pushing him backwards, away from Adam—_

_"NO!"_

_There was no strength left. He was cold—he was so very cold. He fought, clawed with icy hands, straining towards Adam-_

Dean gasped, heart lurching as the dream faded away. His chest heaved as he registered the handcuffs and zip ties around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the chair he was seated on. The room was pitch black, and there was no way to tell how large or small it was.

A soft groan broke through his concentration (or lack of). He whipped his head towards the sound, hoping. Oh God.

"Sammy?"

He was pretty sure his heart broke at the next voice he heard.

"...D-Dean?"

"Sammy. Oh, thank God." Dean had to take a second, heart racing. Sam was okay. Sam was okay. "Are you hurt?"

"My arm, still." Sam's voice carried in the darkness, echoing slightly. A larger room, then. "I managed to get a shirt on it, but the bullet needs to come out," Sam said conversationally, the edge of pain in his voice well-hidden. "You?"

"Nope. I'm good." Actually, now that he thought about it, his head ached. Brady's goon must have clobbered him hard. Hard enough for a concussion...maybe. He'd worry about that later. "Can you move?"

A scraping sound filled the room, subsiding after a second. It seemed like Sam was in the same situation. "No," Sam said, defeated. "You?"

"Zip tied."

"Damn."

Dean closed his eyes, mind racing. The darkness wasn't helping. Brady-and by proxy, Azazel-had captured both of them. But why take him? Sam was the prize. It sounded so...ridiculous. This wasn't a video game. It wasn't even war. It was jealousy and anger strengthened by a helluva lot of money.

"I should have a pocketknife in my jeans pocket," He said after a moment of thought. "If I can scoot over there, do you think you could get it?"

"I can try," Sam said. "My other arm isn't...yeah. I'll try moving that way too."

Dean saw red for a second, hearing Sam's scream of pain over and over again. The shoulder wasn't the worst place to be shot, but Dean actually preferred no bullet holes in Sam. At all. He began scooting towards Sam's voice. Brady was-

Oh yeah. Brady.

He actually laughed out loud at the memory. Dean wasn't overly sadistic, but he had a mean streak or two.

"What's so funny?" Sam sounded slightly exasperated, if nothing else. "You're laughing."

"Yeah?"

"It's kinda disturbing."

"I'm just trying to figure out how Brady's gonna walk."

A pause. "Walk?"

"Without his knees, I mean."

Sam actually stopped shuffling, the metal-on-stone sounds disappearing. "What?"

"I shot both his knees out before they got me. You were unconscious."

He paused, silence overtaking the room. Suddenly a snort came from Sam, only slightly bitter.

"Serves him right," the cameraman seemed to steel himself, scooting over to Dean. After a few moments they managed to get close, close enough for Dean to feel the heat of Sam's legs against his back. "Kay. Where am I looking?"

"Back left pocket, tucked into a seam."

Sam snorted again. "So I have to dig into your ass?"

"Hurry up, Wesson."

Dean heard Sam sigh and then felt fingers probe...there. God, could they get more cheesy? He was about to blush, and it wasn't even his fault. He'd asked Sam to look.

"Hush," Sam must have had the same thought. "Here...no there. Got it. Gimme a quick second-"

Just then the lights flickered on, the sound of footsteps echoing along the far wall. Dean saw Sam's hands scrabble at the knife, both of them cursing as they scooted away from each other.

The door opened, revealing an older, sharp-eyed man. He was tall but slim, wearing expensive but understated clothing, looking for all parts normal and unassuming. Dean knew better.

"Sam, Dean," The man strode into the room, pausing to raise an eyebrow at the two of them. Dean realized with faint embarrassment that his pants were disheveled, giving the completely wrong impression. The man glanced at Sam, a sly look in his eyes.

"I see you've been...busy."

Dean turned to find Sam pale as a sheet, mouth slack in surprise. His throat worked for a good three seconds before any sound came on, and all Dean wanted to do was run over there and hug him, and shield him from that terrible gaze.

"Azazel."

The man smiled. "Sammy. How's my favorite boy doing?"

"I'm not your boy," Sam bit back fiercely, still deathly pale. "I never was."

Azazel seemed to shrug off the comment, grabbing a chair from the other side of the large room and dragging it over. Dean got the impression he did it on purpose, just to hear the scream of the chair's feet on the ground fill up the room. He came to a stop in front of Dean of all people, twirling the chair backwards and straddling it.

"So. Dean-o." Azazel smiled wide, teeth a startling white. His eyes were his most peculiar feature, a light hazel, almost yellow in the low light. "How are you doing? Can I get you anything?"

"A car with Sam in the backseat, headed out of here." Dean refused to be intimidated, raising an eyebrow. "Preferably sooner than later."

"No dice. Sorry." Azazel shrugged, a simple gesture. "Sam is mine. Pick something else."

"Sam goes free."

The smile disappeared.

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

He bit his lip as Azazel shook his head, heart dropping. So there was no way to negotiate Sam out of here. He'd just have to try something else. But what?

"So why are you asking?" Dean leaned back in his chair, looking over Azazel's shoulder in a way he hoped was subtle. "You like playing with your food before you shoot it?"

"Oh, I would like nothing more than to shoot you," Azazel follow his gaze, yellow eyes all-knowing. "But I get the impression that if I did, Sam here wouldn't forgive me."

Sam made a broken noise behind him. "That didn't stop you with Jess."

Azazel ignored him, staring at Dean.

"I respect men like you, Dean Winchester. You've been knee-deep in a lot of shit. That's commendable."

Dean smirked. "Gee, thanks."

"I'm not finished. Like I said, that's respectable. However, you've taken advantage of something that belongs to me. Something that's very dear to me. Something I would kill to protect."

He could hear Sam's eyes rolling behind him, but kept a cool expression on his face. "Does that line work with all the other people you intimidate? Cause I'm not feeling all that scared, to be honest."

"I don't make threats. I make promises." Azazel shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "Every day you spend with Sam, you hurt him more. He's had more injuries in the last three weeks than he's had in one year, not to mention all the brainwashing you've been putting him through."

Insane. He was insane. "You sound like you really care, huh?"

"I do. Sam is mine."

Dean felt righteous anger boiling in his chest. "I don't hurt Sam. The only person who did that was you. Sorry if murder isn't something you can make up for with chocolates and flowers."

Azazel's mouth tightened into a line of disgust, a crack appearing in his polished façade. "I don't need to make up for anything, except perhaps my absence." He glanced at Sam for the first time, eyes appraising him like a piece of meat. "Don't I, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes were fierce with anger. "Only Dean calls me that."

"Dean's not staying around much longer, sorry to inform you." Azazel stood in one swift motion, pulling a gun from his belt.

"You promised you wouldn't kill him!" Sam's puppy eyes weren't enough to sway the other man, but he was trying, desperately. "You can't. You can't kill him. Please don't kill him. Please."

Azazel cocked the gun, making a show of pointing it directly in Dean's face. He sat completely still, unafraid. Sam's begging continued behind him, ripping his heart to shreds.

"Azazel!" Sam's voice was wretched, something Dean had never wanted to hear. "Not again. Not….please. Please. I'll-"

The other man raised an eyebrow as Sam faltered, the gun lowering slightly. "You'll what?"

Dean closed his eyes. Not this. Please not this.

"I'll do...anything." Sam's voice grew stronger. "Anything. Please. Don't kill him. Give us-him a chance. Give him a chance, Azazel. You know this isn't fair."

Azazel lowered the gun completely, hand settling at his side. He ran his eyes up and down Sam, sending shivers down Dean's spine.

"I thought you'd say that."

Dean blinked in surprise as Azazel turned and walked towards the door, face set. The door clanged as he threw it open, disappearing into the hallway. Before he could say anything it opened again, revealing two taller, beefy guys. Security, then. They were holding two syringes each, and it looked very much that they were about to use them.

Sam began to struggle behind him, and Dean joined, pulling at the zip ties in vain. He knew Sam had the knife, but there wasn't time-

The first guard reached out to grab Sam, his hand going to his injured shoulder. Sam shuddered in pain, biting his lip until it went white. Dean looked up to see the second one standing above him, syringes in hand.

"Hey, big guy." He said, only wincing slightly as the first syringe plunged into his neck. Jesus, that stung. His whole body went numb, the fight flowing out of his limbs. The guard prepared the second needle above him, looking blurrier by the second.

He looked over, surprised to see Sam still struggling. He cheered on the inside as his pocketknife flew through the air, catching the guard across the face. Blood streamed from the wound, a vertical cut covering almost half the guard's face. Boy, would that leave a scar.

Dean felt the second needle's sting, watching in anguish as Sam was struck across the face, slumping in his chair. He closed his eyes and darkness took over.

* * *

A/N All hell breaks loose next week as we head to Cold Oak. Leave a review, and let me know what you thought!:)


	19. All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 1b

**A/N** This, lovely people, was supposed to be the last chapter. Fortunately for you (unfortunately?) it was far too large, and missing a rather essential epilogue. I've taken the liberty of splitting the last chapter into two halves. A big shout out to everyone who read and reviewed. You made my day brighter for a very long time. Thank you.

**Side note: **To the user who PMed me (I won't name names, you know who you are): Thank you so much for your comments. Can we discuss this with less swearing? I'll be pleasant if you are. Considering you're still reading, you must be as invested in this story as I am, huh?

Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!:)

* * *

Sam was wet. It was the first thing he realized. Sopping, actually. He could feel the rain against his skin, numbing even as it chilled him to the bone. He blinked, wincing as one if his eyes refused to open. It was swollen shut, leaving him with just a fraction of his normal vision. Not like one eye was going to help, anyway. He was out in the open somewhere dark, far away from any cities or the light pollution they caused.

The zip ties from before were still in place, cinched right around his arms and legs. He moved his legs just in case, testing them. The chair he was sitting in seemed to be attached to something, rocking with the movement. He looked around but couldn't see for the life of him.

It was cold, damn it. Sam tugged again on the zip ties, unsurprised as they refused to budge. He wasn't about to panic. He wasn't. Just...

Where was Dean? Where was _anyone?_ Why was he alone?

The rain seemed to be letting up as he pondered this, but he was still soaked and freezing and that really sucked. What sucked only slightly more was being left in the dark. Literally.

If he was here, that meant Dean was with Azazel, and that meant something bad. Their only weapon-Dean's pocketknife-was probably long gone, and it wasn't like Sam was able to just waltz up and give it to him. He didn't even know if Dean was _alive,_ damn it!

He shook the chair in frustration, taking his anger out on the zip ties as they dug into skin. The legs of the chair wobbled, the cheap metal bending slightly as it tugged on something. Hmmm.

Sam was no survivalist, but he'd spent two months with one. He leaned over as much as he could in the restraints, trying to spot the bottom of the chair. He had just peeked under the seat when his blood froze.

There, tucked in between a bolt and the seat, was a small timer attached to a thin package. Red numbers calmly ticked away the seconds, every bit as scary as it was in the movies. Wires streamed from the timer, attached to the legs of the chair.

Sam felt every atom in his body go still, every instinctive or sentient part of him chorusing a collective _oh shit._

That was why he was alone. He wasn't the prize. He was the bargaining chip.

Sam took a deep, careful breath, resigning himself to staying absolutely still for as long as possible.

* * *

Dean woke with a start, heart in his throat, unsure if his eyes had actually opened or if it really was that dark. He reached a hand up speculatively, sighing in relief as his fingers passed through air. Today wouldn't have been a good day to get buried alive, not that it would've been the first time. He shuddered.

Eventually Dean made himself sit up, wincing as pain shot through his head. Vague shapes were coming into focus around him, either real or a by-product of the concussion he was pretty sure he had. Another brush of his fingers said differently; it _was...bark?_ A tree?

The survivalist stood up quickly, running his hand along the trunk. Definitely a tree. His mind moved sluggishly. Something was wrong...this wasn't right.

Shit. Where was Sam?

Dean had just opened his mouth to call out for the other man when something rustled in the bushes next to him. He barely had time to throw himself down before something whistled past his ear, embedding itself in the tree above him.

_Holy shit._ Dean rolled instinctively, taking shelter behind the thick trunk. Footsteps crunched in the leaves around him, hard to pin down. They were to his left-then the right-no, left again. They were circling him.

Dean wasted no time, running a hand up the tree and praying his opponent didn't choose this moment to fire. His fingers brushed metal and he grimaced. It took almost of all his strength to pry the object out, but, fingers burning, he managed it. A second later the survivalist had what felt like a dagger in his hands. A throwing dagger? What the hell?

His opponent gave him no time to consider this. A second knife slammed past his shoulder, ripping the fabric before it thudded into the tree. Dean swore and scrambled into a crouch, heart beating wildly. Think._ Think._

The other person moved to his right, the sound of their footsteps barely audible. Dean closed his eyes and opened up his other senses, concentrating on his hearing. He could feel the vibration of the person's footsteps in the ground, they were so close.

A knife sailed past his face, inches from his nose. Dean barely saw the flash of the metal, ready with an assault of his own. He tossed a branch towards his right and moved left, letting the noise cover his steps. The knife-thrower followed the noise, placing his back right in front of Dean.

The survivalist breathed in through his nose, completely motionless. Then he sprung into action.

A muffled grunt met him as he tackled his opponent, the force of the jump knocking the breath out of both of them. Dean fought viciously to get a grip around the man's neck, dagger in hand. He felt rather than saw the man's hand move, slamming his foot into the other knife before it could touch him. The dagger fell to the forest as the man cried out, trying to move his now-broken fingers. A vicious blow from the other hand caught him across the face, splitting his lip.

Dean tightened his hold on the man's neck, unyielding. He relaxed as the man finally sunk to the ground, unconscious. The knife-thrower was a good twenty pounds heavier than him, and he went down like a sack of bricks. The survivalist kicked the abandoned knife away, and, on second thought, retrieved it for himself. He found the man's collar and began to drag him towards the base of one of the larger trees. Silence still reigned around their small battlefield.

Sam was out there somewhere. He had to be. The question was, where?

He turned towards the man's unconscious body, a decision waiting to be made. Dean held the knife above the man's chest, hand raised for the killing blow. He tightened his grip on the pommel, ready to swing down and end it all for good. He-

He couldn't do it. The survivalist flipped the knife nimbly, slamming the butt into the man's temple. The guard crumpled even further, a soft moan passing his lips. Dean wiped the blood from his mouth and took a step back, breathing heavily.

The silence that remained was enough to keep the adrenaline flowing, broken only by the loud thudding of his heart. Suddenly a crackling sound filled the forest. He startled, searching for the threat.

_"Dean Winchester!" _Azazel's voice echoed, overlaid by static. It seemed to be coming from the trees, though that didn't make any sense at all. _"Dean…Can you hear me?"_

Dean gritted his teeth, looking around blindly for whatever speaker the man was broadcasting from. All he saw were trees. A shit ton of trees and darkness.

_"I bet you're wondering what's going on right about now,"_ Azazel's voice continued. _"Rest assured, Dean, Sam is… well, I guess you could call it safe. Unless that wasn't what you were thinking about?"_

Sam. If the bastard had so much laid a finger on Sam, there was going to be hell to pay. He'd rip the man's intestines out himself. Slowly. With chopsticks. Bamboo chopsticks.

"_I won't beat around the bush. You're in a bad situation, Dean. Though that's not new ground for you, is it?" _

Dean narrowed the speaker's location down to one tree, a tall pine to his right. He followed his ears and edged towards it, looking for wires. Did Azazel have cameras too, or was it an old speaker system? He must have seen the guard go down…or had he?

He was cautious, brushing his fingers along the bark slowly. A thick metal covering interrupted his search, spanning the height of the pine. It tapered off into a small box at the base of the tree, wedged into the ground.

_What do you want? _He refused to voice the question. Azazel wanted to mess around; well, two could play at this game. He bit his lip and waited, knowing the other man would grow impatient eventually. Dean was almost as stubborn as Sam, and that was saying something. _God._ Sam.

"_You're a survivalist, Dean. Well, I've created a situation even you might not be able to handle. Nicer than outright killing you, right? You can see it's more of a competition this way, gives you a fighting chance." _Azazel said, his tone sugar-sweet, the edge of an accent curling around his words. _"Sam would disagree, but he's a little confused about what's best for him right now." _

Dean spent a second trying to place it. A part of him was disgusted by how far Azazel had gone just to prove a point…yet, this way, he had a chance. A chance to do what?

"_Here's the deal. Sam's alone, and he can't move. He's somewhere to the tune of five miles from you" _Azazel said._ "Oh, and you're surrounded by 10 miles of forest in either direction, so don't think about running to get help, not that you would. Too proud, aren't you?"_

Dean's hand tightened around the dagger. He had to force himself to breathe, drawing a breath in through his nose. Sam was alive. That was what counted, he reminded himself.

"_You have until sunrise to find him, and there's a fairly..._persuasive_ timer counting down for you."_ Azazel said.

Dean's mind whirled. Timer? He wouldn't-

_"I'm a fair guy, so I'll give you a clue; the environment you're in is nothing like you're used to navigating. You're blind, practically defenseless. If by some miracle you survive until this morning, I might actually want to shake your hand."_

Dean would shoot his hand if it came anywhere near him. Azazel seemed to enjoy his silence, a low laugh sounding across the speakers.

_"And Dean…if you die, Sam is mine...Forever. Chew on that for a few hours."_

With that, the speaker went silent, a few crackles of static echoing in the small clearing. Dean's mind cleared, the emotion from before tapering into a deep, focused anger. His motions became almost military in execution; He grabbed the second dagger from the ground and began to move, soundless, his one goal crystal clear.

_Find Sam._

* * *

Sam spent the first two hours of his confinement soaked to the bone and aching. His shoulder throbbed viciously, still bleeding even as the icy rain numbed the skin around the wound. He would've thought Azazel could have taken some mercy on him and dressed it; apparently, he had thought wrong. No one came to speak with him, help him. Nothing. The darkness was suffocating, but he forced himself to keep calm, taking deep breath after deep breath.

God, this was so fucked up. He knew Azazel was capable of extreme anger; violence, even. What he hadn't bet on was how far the other man would go. Attacking them during filming. Taking Dean...and then there was the other problem, the one ticking away slowly beneath his chair. The red numbers read eight hours, fifty seven minutes, and as far as Sam could tell, the timer was armed.

Where had Azazel gotten explosives? Then again, he'd killed before, hadn't he? Why was Sam putting so many expectations when he only knew Azazel would break them? They were both going to die, or Sam was if Dean wasn't dead already.

Sickening fear curled through his gut. Dean had to be out there somewhere, in the woods. Azazel could have him in the same situation-toying with them. That was what Sam wanted to think. Why tie him up if Dean wasn't involved somehow? It wasn't like Sam could get far with the way his shoulder was, not to mention the sluggishness he still felt from whatever drugs they'd used to knock him out.

Three hours in his makeshift bandage was soaked through, the blood warm against his chilled skin. He knew it was a bad sign and refused to think about going into shock. Blood loss like this wasn't as bad as hitting an artery...or so he thought. How long had it been since he'd been shot? It felt like ages ago, though the pain was still insistently sharp.

Sam was about to search the nearby ground for something to use as a bandage when he heard footsteps. He stiffened, eyes searching blindly for the approaching person. He swallowed, hearing another twig snap to his left.

"Who's there?"

Hot breath tickled his neck.

"I'm shocked, Sammy. You don't recognize me?"

Sam jumped, unable to keep from jostling the chair. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, heart hammering wildly in his chest. Jesus Christ.

Azazel laughed behind him, low chuckles sending a shiver down his spine. He felt a hand tug on the chair, testing its give. Sam felt something flat touch the back of the chair when it rocked backwards. He gazed blindly at the trees in front of him, refusing Azazel any more satisfaction. The other man let the chair go eventually, lazily stepping around the legs to stand in front of Sam. A flashlight flickered to life, Azazel's face appearing seemingly from nowhere.

"Oh, that was good. You thought you were all alone out here, didn't you?" Azazel laughed again, a disgusting, throaty laugh. "Sam. You know I'd never let anything happen to you, right?"

"Which is why I'm tied to a chair in the middle of the woods," Sam said dryly, his tone not betraying the lightheadedness he was beginning to feel. "Obviously, Azazel."

The other man shrugged. "Protection. What can I say, Sammy? You're dating an overprotective bastard."

"The only overprotective bastard I'm even coming close to is _Dean. _No, don't touch me," He said as Azazel reached a hand out, apparently trying to comfort him. "I said don't _touch _me."

Azazel complied, but his face was twisted. He set puppy eyes on him, but the tint of his eyes in the flashlight only made it disturbing. "Sam. You're angry."

"Damn straight I'm angry. I'm cold. I'm hungry. I'm in a decent amount of pain, and then you decided to _tie me to a chair _after kidnapping me and Dean!"

He hadn't meant to shout. Sam had read somewhere about kidnappings and kidnappers-negotiate calmly, show respect, defer. Whoops.

Azazel didn't look pleased at his outburst, but still wore that constipated expression. Sam knew that facial expression well. It was the _Sammy you adorable puppy, you're wrong but I think you're too cute to argue with _expression, and it made him want to punch Azazel a hundred times over. In the face. With the chair he was zip-tied to.

"Well, I'm sure you'll see reason eventually...considering." Azazel said eventually, letting his accent curl around the last word.

"Considering what?" Sam felt a shudder of dread go through him. He forced himself to look up. "Azazel. Is he alive?"

Azazel had been from New Jersey, though only Sam knew that. They'd met at Stanford, and the other man had been nothing but class. Expensive cars. expensive dinners. The polished, intimidating exterior was hiding a darker, vicious personality on top of the accent. He'd told Sam one night, curled up in bed with cartons of Chinese food spread between them. He'd been interesting then, maybe even magnetic. Something had been so captivating about Azazel.

Sam hadn't been wrong. That much was true.

"Is he _alive_?!" The cameraman repeated. He shook the chair, receiving the look he had been expecting-a slight widening of the other man's eyes, drawn to the package underneath the chair. So it was armed. Jesus.

"Sam, you'll hurt yourself. Calm down." Azazel knelt in front of him, placating, just in between his legs. Sam clamped down on the shudder of revulsion he felt. "Calm down. I'm here. You're safe now. Let me take care of you."

"You fucking _left _me here in the first place! You think I'm going to be calm?"

Azazel sighed. "You were always dramatic, I'll give you that."

"Tell me where he is. Azazel!"

The other man had gotten up, turning to leave. Sam's shout brought him back. He tilted his head, waiting. Sam felt tears well in his eyes. God, he couldn't let him get to him.

"Please. T-tell me he's alive. Tell me he's here somewhere."

Azazel's face hardened, mouth thinning into a small line. "Sam..."

"I'll do anything. Please."

Sam couldn't keep the act up any longer. He was better than this, but he had to know. He turned his own eyes on the man, begging in a way he hadn't since...before Jess.

Azazel seemed to consider his sincerity for a long moment. He sighed again, turning away in indifference.

"He's not dead...not yet. Injured, yes. Alone, weaponless." Azazel shrugged. "We're going to see what your sweetheart is made of, but I'm afraid it's not much. He's already taken damage, and it's barely been a few minutes."

Sam felt every muscle in his body collapse, sitting back hard into the chair. "Jesus Christ."

"Sorry. Maybe next time around."

The air seemed a thousand times easier to breathe. "What are you going to do to him?"

Azazel frowned, looking affronted. "Me? Nothing. Not unless he gets near you. Frankly, he's going to kill himself long before he gets here in my opinion." He shrugged. "Sam. You have to know this is nothing but temporary."

Temporary wasn't going to keep him from dying of blood loss. Temporary meant Dean wasn't safe, not for a second. Not in these woods...wherever they were. Sam sat straighter in the chair, gazing coldly at Azazel.

"Don't you have a maniacal plan to go re-design?"

Azazel lifted an eyebrow. "Don't you have an attitude problem to address?"

"Bite me." Sam said. Azazel turned away with a sigh, eyes flashing in the light of the penlight.

"Fine, stay out here if you must. To think I was going to let you free, too." He shook his head. "Sit here and think about it, then. We'll see if you have a change of heart in another few hours."

With that the other man turned the flashlight off, stalking away to the right. Sam waited until his footsteps disappeared before slumping in the chair, weak with pain. He felt shaky and ill, chilled by the air and the argument. His head tipped backwards, hitting something hard. The cameraman winced, glancing upwards. He couldn't see anything, though it was clear the chair had shifted slightly. He rocked it slightly with his legs, feeling a small tug. Was it tied to something?

His hands were still tied to the back of the chair. With a small push from his legs the chair tilted onto its back legs, until his hands brushed what felt like wood. Sam ran his fingers up the length as far as they would go, feeling ridges and gaps in the plywood and suddenly...a nail.

* * *

**A/N **Liked it? Hated it? Let me know in a review! The next chapter will be up soon...


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